


After

by posingasme



Series: Too Much and Not Enough [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Bartender Dean, Depression, F/M, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Postpartum Depression, Professor Sam, Psychologist Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost six years after the weekend Dean and Pamela were married and Castiel proposed to Sam, navigating adulthood is the new focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nearly Six Years Later...

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a continuation of the Too Much and Not Enough series, which begins at Inked Touches. Unlike those stories, this one will be released in chapters.

The tie was never right. Never. Sam fixed it for him in the morning, and by the time Castiel came back at the end of the day, it was askew. Sam would be okay with it if Castiel could remember it happening, if it was just on the ride home that he loosened it, but he knew better. The tie was probably a disaster by ten minutes into Castiel's work day, along with the man's hair. But since Castiel was still employed, he supposed his superiors did not care, not the way Sam's clients would.

Besides, it was difficult to find fault when those blue eyes were so gorgeous.

"I should make you wear clip-ons, Angel," Sam sighed as he pressed a glass bottle into his husband's hand.

Castiel raised an eyebrow and took a deep swallow from his beer. "I think I'd enjoy watching you try to make me do anything," he responded after some thought.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come sit."

"You already eat?" the older man inquired wearily as he followed him to the couch while ripping the blue tie from his neck entirely. He tucked his legs underneath him like he had done for all the years Sam had known him, and lay his head against the back of the couch.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly. “Just going to make a salad or something later. Want me to fix you something?”

“I can cook for you.”

Sam felt his smile creep across his face. “No. You’re tired. I can’t burn salad. I’ll be fine.”

“Your cooking isn’t bad. I just like taking care of you, that’s all.”

“Relax, Angel. Drink your beer. You want me to fix something for you or not?”

Castiel sighed wearily. “I’m not really hungry.” He took another long pull from his bottle, then placed it on the coffee table.

Sam was pulling the man to lie with his back against his chest, when a yip alerted them to their company. He smiled. “Hey, guys, where you been? Cas is home!”

They were immediately set upon by two extremely happy dogs. In spite of Castiel’s grumbling, he knew the older man enjoyed the company of the collie and Chesapeake Bay retriever as much as he did.

"When did we decide one massive puppy wasn't enough?" Castiel grumped right on cue.

Sam scratched an enthusiastic canine while looking at his lover's scowl fondly. "They aren't puppies, and they're not massive. And they love Daddy Cas."

A snort and an eye roll was the response he knew was coming. "They love that Daddy Cas cooks, that's all." But he let the Chessie curl onto the couch that was barely large enough for Sam, let alone all four of them.

The collie shoved her face into Castiel's hair as she stood with two paws on the floor and two on Sam's leg.

"Hey! Mira! Get out of there!"

"What's Daddy Cas smell like, Miranda?" Sam leaned in to sniff.

"Don't encourage her!"

"Does he smell like grouchy, girl? Does he?"

"Both of you get off me!" Castiel scrambled off the couch, and the Chessie plopped down after him. "Erik and I are going to cook something. You two creeps stay away."

Sam laughed and snuggled Miranda's fur. When they had adopted the two dogs, they had each named one. The Chessie had become Erikson for the famous psychologist and researcher, but one close look at the collie had indicated that it was probably not an Earl Warren. So instead of the Supreme Court justice who had written the majority for the Loving case and Brown v. Board, Sam had settled for Miranda, another of Warren's legacies. Castiel insisted that both dogs were Sam's, but Erik never left Castiel's side, and the man grumbled but never actually complained.

"You do smell like something," Sam called. "Mira doesn't shove her nose in your hair for nothing."

"Probably baby. Mira always knows when I've been working with kids."

"Speaking of which, Dean's bringing Tristan with him tomorrow. He's been asking for Uncle Cas."

"You're staying home tomorrow, aren't you? You go to the office and leave me with your sleep-deprived brother, and I'll come drag your ass home."

Sam smiled to himself. "I promise I'm not going anywhere tomorrow. We're taking the dogs to the park and we're hanging with Dean and Tris so Pamela can get a break. I'm not going to skip out."

"Good. 'Cause I'll find you."

Sam watched the man busy himself in the kitchen. The Chessie's eyes were following every movement as he watched Castiel with adoration, but he obediently sat just outside the kitchen to do so. Castiel flipped a scrap to him periodically without even looking, and the retriever snapped it from the air happily. Miranda looked interested, but she was content having taken Castiel's place lying on Sam.

"Did you take them out?"

"Yes, I took them out."

"They got clean water?"

"Yes, Cas."

"Andy walk them today?"

The younger man snickered quietly. For someone who claimed to have no interest in pets, Castiel always wanted the full report on how his babies were being cared for. "Yes. Andy walked them. He wants to know if you want him all next week too."

"Depends. He going to want a paycheck?"

He chuckled. "Probably."

"Then tell him to get his stoned ass over here and take care of your dogs."

"I think he just wanted a day off."

"And I think he's got the easiest damn job on the planet. He takes care of your dogs, waters my plants, badly by the way, and takes care of a yard that is mostly clover. What the hell does he want?"

"The waitress at Black Eye's."

Castiel was chopping something with all the finesse of an irritated mental health patient. “Ah. So it’s a date.”

“It has the potential to be a date, I think.”

“And somehow he needs the entire day to get ready for it?”

Sam began laughing again. “Dude, he’s nervous.”

“So your dogs have to suffer because Andrew is socially incompetent. And why do you even know all this anyway?”

“I talk to people, Cas. He’s technically an employee of ours.”

Castiel scoffed. “Technically? Why technically? Because he only technically performs his service?”

Miranda hopped off of his lap and turned to stare at Castiel in the tilted-head way which reminded Sam of the man himself. “Okay, even Mira’s aware that you’re in a pissy mood, Cas. What happened at work?”

Suddenly, Castiel gestured at Sam with the point of his knife. “We are not raising children.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wait, what? And don’t give him onions.”

“He likes onions.”

“And he smells like them for two days. Stop giving him onions. And what are you talking about raising children? They’re dogs.”

He threw his hands up.

Sam stood and approached the bar to sit and watch the cooking drama. “Stop waving the knife around. You take out Erik’s eye, that’s going to be hard to explain to the vet.”

“He’s three feet away.”

“Cas!”

The man sighed finally, and set the knife on the cutting board. “I’m not talking about the dogs,” he murmured.

He frowned as he realized just how distressed his husband actually was. “Okay, Angel. I’m listening.”

Castiel leaned onto the counter with his back to Sam for a moment, then took a breath and continued cooking with a renewed focus. “I just had a long day. That’s all.”

It occurred to Sam then what Castiel had said Miranda had smelled on him. “Working with kids, you said.”

“Yeah. With kids. It’s what I do, you know.”

“Okay. You want to tell me about it?” He could see the line of Castiel’s jaw working on its hinge. He waited patiently, patting Miranda on the head, while the other man got his thoughts together.

“Sam,” Castiel began softly, “after your brother’s wedding, after I asked you if you would marry me, we had a night a few weeks later when we stayed up all night talking. Do you remember that?”

He smiled. “Of course I do. Wasn’t that long ago.”

“Five years, nearly six.”

Five years. Had it been five years? Had he known for nearly six years that he was going to spend the rest of his life with this man? Had his brother been married for nearly six years? It was incredible, hard to believe, on one hand. On the other… “How could it only be five years? I’ve loved you my whole life, I thought.”

He could not see Castiel’s face, but he heard the soft smile in his voice. “No. Not quite.”

“Okay. I remember that night. We took a quilt up to that roof and we watched the sun go down, and then watched it come back up. We talked for hours, and I’m pretty sure there was some oral sex involved.”

“It was the talking I was referring to.”

“Except now I’m thinking of oral sex and wondering why you’re not.”

Castiel turned to give him a sour look.

Sam laughed, and put his hands up. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

“It’s a wonder you haven’t killed me yet.” He sighed as he began steaming the vegetables he had chopped, then turned to Sam again. “One of the things we talked about was kids.”

A punch of anxiety hit Sam’s stomach. “Yeah? I remember. You said you’d be an awful dad, and I disagreed. But I didn’t disagree that we shouldn’t have them.”

Castiel nodded silently.

He took a deep breath through his nose and stood to join Castiel in the kitchen. He felt almost like he were trapped in a dream. “Cas, are you…are you saying you don’t feel that way anymore?”

“No, of course not. I research kids all day every day. I know how easy it is to screw one up. I mean, look at us!” But the blue eyes would not meet Sam’s gaze. “Move. You’re in my way. And get Erik something to play with so he’ll stop staring at me.”

Sam frowned, but he went to the door to grab Erik’s rope knot to toss to him. Miranda quickly hurried over to receive hers, and the two dogs headed out to the balcony to play happily, unaware of the new wave of emotions rushing through the house.

When he returned to the kitchen, Castiel was staring hard at the vegetables. He had started some rice cooking as well.

The large man quietly put his arms around Castiel’s waist from behind. “We need to talk about this?” he asked, bending to breathe it into the back of the other man’s neck.

“Of course not,” he snapped again. “Sam, I work with kids all the time. They’re freaking scary.”

“They aren’t scary.”

“Yeah. They are. And what’s worse is they’re completely dependent. I mean, Erik and Miranda, you throw them out the door, and they’d figure something out. Kids are needy. You don’t even realize how needy they are.”

A slow smile came over Sam then, and he placed his chin on top of the dark head. “So you’re doing that thing where you feel like you want to take care of everyone who needs to be taken care of, and now you think we should have kids.”

“I said no!” Castiel pushed Sam away and stalked into the living room. Sam watched him as he began picking up dog toys, professional journals, Sam’s shoes and various other objects, straightening their space with the sort of focus he used when he was trying to hash something out in his head. Then, without looking at Sam, he spoke again. “Besides, it doesn’t matter because you don’t want them.”

Sam swallowed. He chose his words carefully on his way to sit down on the couch again. “Cas, we haven’t talked about it for a really long time. Not since Tris was born. It isn’t like I hate kids. I just never…wanted to be a dad.”

Castiel was nodding. “Exactly. I’d suck at it anyway. I mean, seriously? What the hell do I know about kids?”

Hazel eyes stared at him. “Are you kidding? Cas, that’s stupid. You know more about kids than anybody I know. Dean and Pam both call you when they’re stumped. You spend every day studying children. How can you say you don’t know about kids?”

“You know what I mean. Raising them.”

“You’ve written more articles on that subject than most professionals twice your age. Knowledge is not the point. If knowledge was all it took, you’d be the best dad in the history of parenthood.”

A glare was sent his way. “Why are you making this harder?” he choked out suddenly, in a voice that hitched in his throat.

Sam’s mouth dropped, and he jumped from the couch to reach for Castiel. “Angel, I’m sorry! I really am. Okay, you’re changing your mind about kids. Let’s sit and talk about it, okay? Cas, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. We made the right decision all those years ago. I just…Do I have the right to spend a few minutes every few years wishing we had gone another way?” At last, Castiel let strong arms surround him, and his question sounded less rhetorical than he probably meant for it to.

“Of course you can, Angel. I’m sorry. Come here. Dinner’s got to cook a few minutes anyway. Just sit with me. Can you tell me what brought this on?”

Castiel fell slowly onto the couch beside Sam. “Nothing.” He shook his head, then dropped it into his hands. “Not nothing. This.” He held his fingers up for Sam to see. “They always stare at my hands.”

Sam smiled fondly. “Well, Cas, you’re covered in ink. Of course it’s going to get their attention.”

“They always stare at my hands.”

“If it bothers you, you can go back to doing study work instead. But you like fieldwork.”

“I would never go back to hunting through journals if I had a choice. I love what I do, Sam. It makes a difference for these kids. Evaluating studies and pulling statistics…some guys can do that forever, but I need to actually see what’s making these kids’ brain scans and chemicals change. I need to see it for myself when a kids’ levels spike because they’re getting the right kind of stimulus. Missouri says I’m a control freak, but I can’t just take someone’s word for it that the experiment is set properly, that the kids are receiving exactly the treatment they should be. I need to listen to the kid and his guardian being debriefed, and I need to be sure that every datum is as accurate as it can possibly be. Because it does make a difference. If I studied algae, it wouldn’t matter so much. But these are kids.”

The smile had turned to one of pride. “And that’s why you’re respected the way you are, Cas. You were the youngest researcher ever to get that ethics award, weren’t you? Cas, no one would ever be able to say you aren’t completely devoted to your subjects and the science.”

He was still gazing down at his own fingers, turning them to examine the tattoos covering them.

“And these kids like your tats.”

“They always stare at my hands.” Castiel stood and wandered back to the kitchen, and Sam was left wondering if they had finished talking. Before he could follow, Castiel’s phone began blaring Fugazi from his trouser pocket. “What, Dean?” the man sighed as he answered it without turning away from the stovetop. “Sam, tell your stupid dogs to stop fighting. Two toys, two dogs. They don’t need to fight over one knot. Yes, Dean, I’m listening. Go.”

Sam whistled to get the attention of Miranda and Erik, who jumped apart from one another and sat down as if they did not know what Sam was getting at.

“Your brother is the tech guy, Dean. Why are you calling me about your computer?…Oh…Okay, yeah, go up to where it says clear browsing data…It won’t mess anything up.”

The large man burst into laughter. “Tell him I lived with him my whole life, and I know how boring his porn is! He can’t traumatize me anymore.”

“Sam says hello.” Castiel began pouring rice into bowls, and topping it with steamed vegetables. “But that isn’t going to solve the problem forever, Winchester. You need to put your laptop on a shelf Tris can’t reach…I’m just telling you. You think you screwed up Sam’s head, just wait till Tris gets ahold of your computer…I know he’s only three. You think he can’t figure his way around a browser?” He held his phone between his shoulder and ear to free his hands for carrying bowls to the dining room. Sam followed him there with two beers. “Dean, stop…No, you haven’t broken your kid. You’re an idiot…Look, if this is the worst thing you do as a parent, Tristan is the luckiest kid alive…Dean, you just said he didn’t even see anything…Pamela isn’t going to kill you because you’re not going to tell her, because nothing happened…That was almost three years ago, Dean, and she was drowning in post-partum hormones at the time. She didn’t mean it…”

Sam sat across from Castiel, and tested his rice.

His husband glowered at him. “It’s hot!…Not you. Your dumb kid brother…Yes, Dean,” he sighed, “the first kid you screwed up.”

“Hey!” Sam called.

Castiel shrugged. “Just let me talk to him…Fine…Heya, Tris. It’s Uncle Cas, okay?…He wasn’t yelling at you, kiddo. He was just surprised that you went onto his computer without asking him. Do you think you can always ask him before you do that?…Good boy…He isn’t angry. His face was red because he was surprised…” Blue eyes rolled. “Tris, your daddy isn’t angry, but it would be a good idea to say you’re sorry that you played with his computer. Can you ask him next time?…Mama will be home in two days, buddy. She misses you too. It’s hard not having Mama around, huh? But Daddy is there, and it’s fun just being with Daddy sometimes, isn’t it?”

Sam found that he was smiling at Castiel with that level of adoration that he felt whenever his husband interacted with their nephew.

“The doggies are fine. They miss you. Do you want to go to the park and play with them tomorrow?…Okay, ask your daddy to bring you early…Tris, be good for your daddy, okay? Daddy worked all day and he’s tired, okay?…Can you color a picture for Erik and Mira? They would like that…Okay, buddy, give Daddy the phone back…Dean, how did you produce a kid that smart? You really sure he’s yours?…That’s the story she’s sticking with, huh? Okay…Don’t worry about it. I like Tris. Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean Tris can’t call me…See you tomorrow, Winchester.” Castiel stared at the phone for a moment after hanging up, then set it aside quietly. “How’s the rice?”

“Hot,” Sam reminded him as he reached across the table.

“Right.” He lowered his eyes to his own hands folded into Sam’s. “Tris is a good kid.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. He is.”

“I’m not actually too hungry. I’m going to sit with Erik outside for a while. Just leave your dish in the sink and I’ll take care of it. This enough for you? I didn’t even ask.”

“This is perfect, Cas. Thanks.”

A pink tongue darted out to lick pink lips, and Castiel took hold of his beer and disappeared from the room. A moment later, Sam could hear the dogs greeting him. As if she knew Castiel was in one of his moods, Miranda came trotting in to curl up at Sam’s feet, leaving the calmer Chessie to sit at Castiel’s. He gave her a pat, and worked through the rice and vegetables with less enthusiasm than he normally would.

Over the years, Sam had learned to give Castiel his space when he got this way. He would talk when he was ready, but until then, he did not push. If he made him talk before he was ready, they were in danger of him saying something he had not thought through. In return, Castiel had long since learned that storming out of the house when he was feeling cornered was not necessary either. He simply sat and thought things out on his own time, and Sam left him alone. It would have saved a lot of heartache over the years if they had each learned this simple arrangement earlier, but Sam would not give up a single moment of his time with Castiel, even the fights and hurt feelings. Sam no longer pushed, Castiel no longer sulked, and in turn, Sam no longer fled. It was amazing how far they had come. He smiled to himself as he realized it had been about four years since one of them had shown up in Dean’s doorway, seething with anger and hurt, which was a good thing, since Dean and Pamela now had something far more important to worry about.

Tristan was a surprise. No one had even had to ask about that. The look of barely masked panic on Dean’s face had made it quite clear. He had held a shocked smile on his handsome face until Tristan was about three months old, when Sam supposed it finally hit him that he was a father. At that point, he was the one who had shown up on their doorstep, whimpering about how he wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s daddy.

Castiel had taken hold of the older man’s arm and pulled him into the house, and told Sam to get them some beers. The look Dean had given Castiel was so full of gratitude that he was afraid his big brother was about to burst into tears. “Dean, you’re going to be fine,” Castiel chanted throughout the evening, as he listened to every reason Dean was the worst choice to parent a child. Finally, he had smacked Dean’s shoulder as the other man lay his face into his arms at the table. “Dean, would you take one look at this man right here?”

Dean had looked up with an expression borne of pure exhaustion.

“Right here.” Castiel pointed at Sam, who had stayed quiet most of the conversation, and was now standing above them, leaning against the dining room entrance and drinking his beer quietly. “You raised that kid, and he’s the best human I’ve ever known. You know how he’s still listed in my phone? Amazing Human. You didn’t create this one, but you made him into what he is, and what he is? It’s amazing. So don’t tell me you can’t parent. I’ve met John; he isn’t a bad person, but he’s a father, not a dad. You, Dean, you’re a dad. So suck down your beer, and go home and help Pamela. She’s still going through a lot at this point, and she needs you to go smile at her and tell her you’re both doing just fine at this whole parenting thing.”

“She’s fantastic. It’s just me.”

“She is fantastic. Go tell her that, because she needs to hear it.”

Dean smiled softly, and gripped Castiel’s hand. “Thanks, man.” He stood and headed for the door, pulling his arms through his jacket sleeves. Then he turned back around. “He did turn out okay, didn’t he?”

Neither of them acknowledged that Sam could still hear them. Castiel nodded somberly. “He really did. Thanks for that. Tristan is very lucky to have a dad who has always been such a good big brother.”

The smile spread to Dean’s eyes then, and he slipped out of their home looking better than Sam had seen him in nearly a year.

Sam sighed as he remembered that night. Castiel’s friendship with Dean had surprised him at first, but he was grateful for it, and after so many years, it seemed completely natural for Dean to call Castiel nearly as often as he called Sam. And it was just as well, because Sam would have probably just laughed at Dean’s predicament tonight, but Castiel actually offered substantial help.

He heard Erik pad back into the house just as he was placing his empty bowl into the sink. He smiled at the thought that the quiet dog made more noise than his husband. “Angel?” he called.

“Yeah, pup.”

“Want to talk?”

“Not really.”

Sam frowned, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Come tell me about your day while I get ready to crash.”

“Not going to eat anything?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Okay.” He followed the man into the bedroom and watched him take his wrinkled suit off layer by layer. He lay on the bed, arms behind his head, to appreciate the man’s gorgeous reveal. “Not much to tell. I only taught one class today. Spent the rest of the day in my office working on consulting briefs.”

“You going to take on that other job?”

“May as well.”

“You don’t need to, Sam. You’re making plenty teaching. You don’t need to take on more consulting work.”

Sam shrugged. “It isn’t about the money. It’s the experience and the network possibilities.”

“I know. I just want you to know we’re doing just fine, so only take on more if you want to, not because you think we need to.”

“Because we’re going to be paying back student loans our entire lives?”

“Right.”

Castiel’s back was beautiful. The tattoo wings had been touched up several months ago, and they were absolutely breathtaking. Each side extended down his arms past his elbows. The asymmetric patterns were intricate works of art. They reached half down his back. The feathered side was the noble, black wing of an angel, and the reptilian side was a powerful, chromatic spread of a dragon, veins and tendons pouring out in fine detail. His back muscles rippled with every movement, giving the impression that he might burst into flight at any instant. Staring at his husband’s back was one of Sam’s favorite pastimes.

Some nights, even quiet ones like tonight, Sam was filled with an overwhelming gratitude for all the good things in his life, and Castiel was always at the top of his list.


	2. One Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost inside your own head is not a fun place to spend the night. Not if you're Castiel or Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama ramps up. At this point, anyone looking for fluff should get off the angst train.

Castiel lay awake staring from Sam to his own hand and back long after his husband had fallen asleep.

Erik was in his bed on the floor beside him, and Miranda was underneath Sam's heavy arm. Castiel's rule about no dogs in the bed had come to mean no dogs on his side of the bed, but he could live with that. Their western king bed was long enough for Sam's length, and Castiel never minded the loss of space on Sam's side since it simply pushed them together for most of the night.

But tonight, he found sleep elusive. He and Erik had made their rounds in the middle of the night, washing dishes and checking door locks. Now he was in bed again, and he was still wide awake.

He thought of waking Sam for a two o'clock tussle. Sam had never once turned that down, not in all the time they had been together. Castiel had been all over the world, had seen rivers of all sorts, but the libido that flowed through the man he had married was a masterpiece of nature. It was a wonder the man had not killed him yet.

But Sam needed sleep, and Castiel's heart was not in it tonight. It would simply be a way to help him fall asleep himself, and that was not fair since sex that relaxed him often energized Sam, and would prevent him from being able to rest.

Instead, he lay flat on his back and tried to reach a point of meditation that would let his mind release the thoughts plaguing him.

Sam did not want children. Even from their brief, choppy discussion that night, he could tell that was something which had not changed. He heard straight couples say, "We aren't trying, but if it happens, it would be okay," and "We don't want a kid right now, but of course I know if she got pregnant we would love it." That serendipity was not an option for Castiel and Sam. If they wanted children, they had to work very hard to make it happen. They had to go through proper channels and devote their time, money and pride to being examined and evaluated, and then deal with the emotional upheaval involved with the whole process. Worth it, surely, but only if they were both on board with the commitment.

And if Sam was not on board with doing this the usual way, there was no chance he would agree to what Castiel really wanted.

With a sigh, Castiel dropped his hand to tangle his fingers in the Chessie's curls, and his mind accepted the thoughts of Tristan playing with the dogs as enough to let him sleep.

***

Across the city, Dean Winchester lay awake, and tears streamed down his face in the dark. Tristan had finally fallen asleep, and he knew he should move him to his own bed, but it was too comforting having the boy's weight on his chest. With him lying there, he could smell his sweaty, soapy hair and feel his heat, and know he was safe.

Tristan was safe.

He tried to keep his tears in check, was afraid he might wake his son. But he could not keep the exhaustion from pouring out. Not now.

It had been three days.

The first two days, he had believed the story, and thought her phone was simply not getting a signal. But fifteen hours ago, his whole life had come to a screeching halt, when he had tried to be a considerate husband. He knew Pamela would want to talk to Tristan, or at least hear how he was, so he had gone online to find a phone number for the conference. When he could find nothing, he called the nurses' station at the hospital, to correct the name and location of the conference Pamela was attending.

That was when his heart had stopped completely.

"Dean?"

He had cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood. Can you repeat that?"

"I said I don't know anything about a conference. And she's missed two shifts already. Dean, tell her to call right away. We're worried about her. And if everything's fine but she misses another shift...well, I won't have a choice, no matter how much we all love her. You know."

He had gone through the rest of the day like a zombie. He had dropped Tristan off at the preschool, and gone to work as always.

He had finished the body work on an unfortunate Corvette, which would normally have brought him a great deal of satisfaction, bringing the thing back to its rightful glory, but today, he simply handed the keys off to his partner and turned to the next machine on his workload.

"You don't want to show off the work to the guy? Dude practically cried when he handed the thing off, like he was amputating a broken arm. Thought Dr. Winchester would want to show him she made it through the surgery."

He shook his head, but forced a smile. "Richie, you're the talker. Go talk."

"Whatever, buddy. I'm going to tell him I did the work myself."

"Just hope he doesn't ask you where the transmission is."

"That something we put in or took out?"

Finally, Dean laughed, and was rewarded with a wink from Richie. "I'm going to get to that struts job, then I'm taking off. Gotta pick up my kid."

"Man, we are going to start losing money, you keep checking out on a three quarter day like this! I'll be glad when Pamela gets home, yeah?"

It was like a punch to his throat, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Then he choked out, "I been thinking we might need to hire some more help soon, Rich. We're doing okay now, and..."

"You wanting time off, Winchester? That ain't like you. How am I supposed to feed my family if we're paying another grease monkey?"

He snorted softly, and rubbed his hands on his rag. "By family, you mean the working girls you bring home?"

"My sisters, man! You know. Step-sisters."

"You got issues, dude. Don't worry about it. I'll make it work. Just ask T. J. if he wants some overtime for a little while. He never turns that down. It'll probably only be for another week."

"Yeah, okay. Long as I don't gotta get my manicure dirty."

"It won't come to that. Trust me."

The rest of the work had been a blur. He had replaced the struts on the old Nissan, and realigned it without truly thinking about what he was doing. He had finished earlier than he expected, and let Richie talk at him about the accounts for a few minutes before it was obvious to both of them that none of it was getting through.

Richie had sighed. "Man, go get your kid and rest off whatever your problem is, capiche? I'll deal with the billing and payroll. You don't have to pretend like you care."

"I care," Dean protested wearily, as he ran his hand down his face. "But we're partners for a reason, Richie. You work the numbers, keep us in business. That's what you do."

"You were just telling me a week ago you wanted to be more involved in the daily ops, Dean."

"That was before..."

Richie closed his laptop. "Before what, dude? What's wrong?"

But Dean shook his head. "I gotta go get Tris. You keep doing whatever it is you do to keep us in the black."

Another day, Richie might have made a joke about Dean wanting plausible deniability, but today he simply nodded. "Lemme know if I can do something, Deano."

He pulled a shaking hand down his face again, then smiled. "Just keep my business afloat, Richie."

The evening had gone without event, except that Dean was so busy staring at the silent phone that he had not noticed Tristan opening up his computer. It was not porn he had been worried about his son finding, though he had let Castiel assume so. He had spent dinner looking up worst case scenarios while Tristan ate and watched cartoons. He did not want Tristan exposed to any of the sites his darkness had drawn him to while he wondered why his wife had not called.

Now he was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling through tears, smelling his son's messy hair and wishing he had the faith to pray.

***


	3. Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is no hunter. He doesn't know how to track something that doesn't want to be found. Not even when that something is his wife. He goes to Sam and Cas, and reveals that things have been bad for longer than he'd let on. And he's very, very tired.

Sam was pushing on his shoulder. Closing his eyes tighter did not seem to deter the man, so he finally sighed and rolled over. “What?”

“They’re here.”

“Who?”

“Dean and Tris.”

He groaned. “I told them to come early. I didn’t mean before dawn.”

“Sun’s up, Angel. Come on.”

By the time he had pulled jeans on, he could hear Sam opening the door. “Dean, hey, what-“

“Tristan, go to Uncle Cas. Now, please.”

Castiel frowned at the tone in Dean’s voice, which he could not identify. He threw his tee shirt over his head, and hurried out of the bedroom to find Tristan staring at his father with a strange look on his face. “Dean?” he called.

“What’s wrong-“

Dean was grabbing Sam’s arm. The man’s eyes were wild and Sam reacted to them immediately with a look of fear. “Tristan, go play with Uncle Cas. Now,” he said again. “Sammy, come on.”

“Sure, Dean. Of course. Cas, uh-“

But Sam was hauled outside before he could get another word out of his mouth. Castiel turned to the little boy left behind. “Hey, buddy. What’s up with Daddy?”

“He’s scared.”

The words sent a shockwave through the man, and he was suddenly wide awake. “Why, Tris? What’s wrong?”

Tristan was very slender, and of about average height for a three year old. His mop of dark hair reminded Castiel of his own perpetual bedhead. He wore a pair of jeans and boots, with a little black tee under a green corduroy shirt. He looked exactly like a tiny, black haired Dean Winchester, down to the worried green eyes. “I don’t know,” he murmured softly.

Castiel knelt down to Tristan’s level. “Okay, buddy. It’s all right. Daddy’s fine. Just come with me. I need to feed the doggies. You want to help me?”

“Yeah!”

It was nearly twenty minutes later that Sam and Dean returned. Castiel glanced at his husband’s face, and his blood ran cold at what he saw there. “Hey, Tris? Tell you what. I told the doggies you said you’d color something for them. Can you do that now while I talk with Daddy and Uncle Sammy?”

Tristan glanced at his father, then back at Castiel. “Yeah. But don’t forget me.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dean take the words like a physical blow. He frowned, knelt, and put his hand on the little boy’s arm. “Tris, we’ll never forget about you. Even when you don’t see us or hear us, we’re always thinking about you, okay? Even when we’re talking about something else, we’re still thinking about you. Did you know that?”

The little head shook back and forth.

“Well, it’s true. Now go draw your very best picture for the dogs, okay? And they’re not as good at sharing as you are, so can you draw one for Miranda and one for Erik? Can you do two pictures?”

He nodded. “I’ll do good ones.”

“Okay, thank you. Remember where Uncle Sammy put your crayons?”

“Yup!”

The boy hurried into the guest room to complete his task, and Castiel stood to turn on Sam and Dean, who had been silent since coming back into the house. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

Dean was shaking his head. He looked shell-shocked. “Don’t forget me. Jesus, Sam, what do I tell him? If he’s already saying that, what the hell do I tell him?” He stumbled badly on his way to drop into the chair, but he did not even seem to notice.

“Sam?” Castiel said in a low, firm voice.

Sam blinked and seem to remember a question had been asked. “Yeah. Uh, Cas, that conference Pamela said she was going to.”

“Nurses conference, I thought.”

“So did I,” Dean murmured. He dropped his elbows to his knees and his head into his hands. Castiel stared at his friend.

“Yeah,” Sam said again. “So there’s no conference.”

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Dean can’t get ahold of her, and when he called the hospital, they said there was no conference. Pamela’s just MIA.”

Castiel’s mouth dropped open, then slammed shut. “Jesus. Dean, I’m so sorry. I don’t even…Have you called…”

“Everyone,” he sighed through his fingers. “Everyone. Madge and Ed are clueless. Benny’s got nothing, Hannah says she was acting strangely last time she saw her at the Roadhouse, but Ellen and Jo say they didn’t see anything. Abby answered her phone and acted like she didn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t act worried, just irritated that I’d called. She knows but she won’t tell me. She knows something. That bitch. I want to go put my hands around her throat.”

He swallowed hard. “Dean, don’t…don’t say things like that around Tris, okay? You know she’s a bitch, we know she’s the freaking Queen of Hell, but to him, she’s still Aunt Abby. Okay?”

“I know. He heard me yelling at her this morning when she finally picked up. I’d left her a voice mail, telling her if she didn’t answer her goddamn phone, I was going to come to her place and kick in the door, so she finally answered, but it wasn’t to be helpful. Goddamn bitch. She knows where my wife…” Dean’s voice failed him then, and he lifted his green eyes to reveal pools of tears filling them. “She knows where Tristan’s mother is. She knows something, anyway. And she’s not telling me.”

“We’ll find her, Dean.” Sam’s voice was quiet. “We will.”

Castiel’s eyebrow peaked, and he licked his lips. “Dean, tell me what else you tried. Who else did you call? Maybe she’s hurt somewhere.”

“She ain’t hurt. Not if Abby knows she’s okay.”

“What else did you try?” he said again, giving Sam a meaningful look.

Sam’s lips parted as he realized what Castiel was saying. “Dean, it’s important. Did you call the police? Hospitals? All her friends?”

“Of course I did! Police say she’s an adult, and that she said she’d be back on Monday, so technically she ain’t missing. No hospital within two hundred miles ever heard of her, and if any of her friends know something, they aren’t acting like it. She’s just…gone.”

“Okay.” Sam took a deep breath, exchanging another glance with his husband. “Dean, I’m going to go to your place and look around. Okay?”

Dean’s tears began to fall, and he swiped at them angrily. “Don’t you think I’ve looked?”

“Maybe you missed something. Look, it’s…it’s important that we go through every logical step, okay? We need to…we need to do this right.”

Suddenly, the green eyes narrowed. “What…what are you two…”

Castiel took a breath. Then he nodded at Sam. “Go.”

The younger man grabbed his keys from the hook and left the house without another word. Dean watched him, then turned back to Castiel.

“Dean, look. There’s probably a perfectly good reason for all of this. Okay? I really hope there is. But Tristan is number one here. And she lied about where she was going, she isn’t contacting you, and you have no reason to believe she’s been hurt, because you think Abby knows. She obviously planned this, since she gave you a story about where she was going. And if she planned to come back on Monday…”

Shallow breaths were choking out of Dean’s throat now. “She would answer her phone. Find a way to call.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry, man. But yeah. Hopefully this will all be a stupid misunderstanding. But it isn’t looking that way. It’s been four days? Yeah, okay. Four days. If it weren’t for Tristan…”

“If there were no kid, it would just be a screwed up way to leave your husband.”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s exhaustion was complete. He looked like he could throw up or pass out at any moment, but instead, he simply sat and allowed tears to flow down his cheeks as though he were unaware of them. “What am I going to do?”

“First, we’re going to call Charlie and Jo and have them come take Tris and the dogs to the park. He knows there’s something wrong, Dean, and we’ve got to keep him away from it until we know for sure what’s going on.”

“Yeah. Charlie and Jo. That’s good. They’ll need to take the Explorer. It’s got his car seat in it.”

“You’ve got her Explorer?”

He smiled weakly, as if numb to the whole situation. “Of course. Can’t fit a car seat in the Impala. She left me the Explorer, and she took my Baby.” He began shaking badly. “She left our baby,” he whispered then. “How can she have left our baby? Me? Okay. I get that. Maybe I’m a shitty husband. I’ve tried, but I’ve never been good enough for her. So I get that. But how the hell could she leave Tristan?”

Castiel glanced back to be sure the door to the guest room was still closed, and he could still hear Miranda yipping with her little friend. “I don’t know, Dean. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I can’t…I can’t imagine…Except, Dean, what is she like at home? When it’s just you two and Tris, what goes on? Does she sleep well? Eat well?”

Dean frowned, and he looked confused for a moment. “I mean, everything was different after Tris. But that’s normal. You said that was normal.”

He took a breath. “It is. To a point. Look, I’m texting Charlie to see if they can come over to help out. While I’m doing that, just…just tell me how things changed.”

There was a shrug, but Dean’s eyes took on a look as though he were fitting the last piece into a puzzle inside his head. Cold fear came over his face, and the tears eased to a stop. “She was okay till he was almost born. At like seven months or something, she started worrying about everything. Like, everything. I’m already pretty OCD about checking locks at night, and Sam will tell you I got a kind of fixation with checking fire alarms and the stove and stuff. I guess that’s what happens when your mom dies in a house fire. But she got to where I had to get up several times a night to check the house, over and over. But that book you gave me said anxiety was normal for her at that point, so I figured that was all it was.”

The younger man sighed. But he nodded at Dean to continue.

“So…so after he was born, it was okay for a few months. Guess we were both so busy…I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t okay, but I didn’t notice. Then, about when I thought things should be getting easier, they got a lot harder. Tris was awesome. He was good, but Pamela…”

“Dean, it’s important. Did she sleep well and eat well? How did she act with Tris?”

He dropped his chin. “She’s a good mom,” he whimpered in a voice that was too gruff.

“I’m not doubting that, Dean. I’m trying to figure out if she was a healthy mom. That isn’t the same thing at all.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, and Castiel glanced at his phone. Charlie had responded that she and Jo were happy to blow off their plans, to clean their apartment and do laundry on a beautiful Saturday, to go to the lake with an adorable little boy and his doggie cousins. He wanted to roll his eyes at the phrase “doggie cousins” but he refrained, and instead texted back to say that he and Dean would appreciate it. He tapped something vague about Sam and Dean needing some brother time and Castiel having work to do, and then turned his attention back to his friend.

“Go ahead, Dean.”

“Past three years, she…she’s gone through waves of either sleeping all the time or not sleeping at all. But that’s normal, isn’t it? I mean…”

“Don’t worry about what’s normal right now. Just tell me what’s fact.”

His brother-in-law nodded slowly, numbly. “Sometimes, she, um…she’d leave the house. Like she was overwhelmed, she’d just get in the car and go. But she always came back in a few hours. I figured she needed a break. Tris is a good kid, he really is, but I know she got stressed a lot. She started picking up extra shifts at the hospital whenever she could. And I told her once a few months ago that it felt like she was avoiding coming home sometimes. She would be out until she knew Tris would be asleep. Not because she didn’t want to see him. Just…she…And sometimes she would cry. But she always told me that there was nothing I could do, that it wasn’t anything Tris or I did, just that she needed to be sad for a while, and she’d be better soon. She stopped listening to music because it always upset her.”

Castiel cringed. How had he missed all those things? How had he not noticed his best friend’s wife suffering through such obvious symptoms, when it was so closely related to his field of study? What kind of researcher was he if he did not see every neon sign and red flag that Dean had lived with for three whole years? “Dean, why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He shook his head. “Cas, I thought…she said she was fine. And sometimes she was! Sometimes things were so perfect, Cas, and we were all so completely happy that it made me forget about anything else. And all those other times…Cas, it’s just because I wasn’t helping enough, okay? I wasn’t around enough. It’s why I dropped back to one shift a week at the Roadhouse. And I tried to make up for it when I was home. But it wasn’t enough. On days she needed to sleep, I couldn’t keep up with everything the way I should have. Every book said this shit was normal, Cas, so…” The shallow breathing had returned and, with it, the tears. “So it was me. If there was something wrong, it was me. Tris is so good, Cas. And Pamela…she worked really hard. It was just me. I didn’t do enough to help her.”

It was obvious that Dean believed this, but his friend did not. “I’ve seen you with Tris, Dean. You do a lot.”

“It wasn’t enough!” he shouted suddenly.

Castiel could feel the abrupt silence in the guest room, and he sighed. He stood and went to open the door. “Tris?”

The little boy sat on the floor, surrounded by crayons and paper, with a dog on either side of him. All three looked up at Castiel expectantly.

“You okay in here?”

“Is Daddy yelling?”

 “Maybe, but he’s okay. Are you okay?”

Tristan nodded. “Mira likes what I draw.”

He forced a smile onto his face. “I know she does. Erik does too. I’m going to talk to your daddy a little longer. You just keep drawing. If you get bored, you can read one of your books to the dogs, okay? They would love that. Just tell them what you see in the books.”

“Okay. Uncle Cas, can you make Daddy not angry?”

It was breaking his heart. He dropped down to one knee and patted the boy on the back gently. “Listen, buddy. Sometimes grownups get angry, and that’s okay. But your daddy isn’t angry with you, and he isn’t going to hurt anybody. Right?”

“Mama makes him sad.”

His eyes narrowed a bit. “Yeah? Did Mama say anything to you before she left for her work?”

“She said Daddy was going to be sad and angry, but it wasn't 'cause of me.”

A stab of cold temper hit Castiel’s chest. “Did she?” he murmured as neutrally as he could.

“Mama said be good for Daddy. I’m good, Uncle Cas.”

“I know you are, Tris. Did Mama say anything else when she left?”

“Said I love you.”

At least there was that. “All right. If you remember anything else, let me know, okay?”

“Okay. You’ll take care of Daddy?”

“Of course I will. He’s my friend.”

Tristan nodded and went back to his coloring. “Daddy says Uncle Cas and Uncle Sammy is his bestest friends.”

Castiel found he could not respond to that, so he simply patted the boy’s head softly, and left the room again, giving a look to the dogs to indicate they should behave themselves. Then he rejoined Dean in the living room. “Dean?” he said quietly. “It sounds like she might have said goodbye to Tris.”

His brother-in-law looked as though he might vomit.

“Dean, what’s been going on these past few months? Has she been to a doctor?”

“She wouldn’t go,” the man breathed. “For three years, every time I suggested it, she smacked me across the face, told me what an awful husband I was. Told me I was making her feel like a bad mother. It always came back to that. If I mentioned she wasn’t eating well, or I was worried she didn’t sleep enough, or too much sometimes, she accused me of thinking she was a bad mother. I never meant to make her feel like…”

Castiel’s hand settled on Dean’s arm as he sat beside him. “Dean, don’t. This is not your fault. Okay?”

“Jo’s coming for Tris?” 

“Yeah. They’ll be here soon.”

“Mind if I just…could I just sleep in the guest room till Sam gets back? I haven’t slept since…I just need four hours. If I knew where to look, I’d be…I just need to sleep.”

Castiel nodded. “Of course, man. Tris is in there now. Dean, everything’s going to be okay. No matter what. All right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Thanks.”

He watched the man pull himself to a stand with great effort, and sighed to himself as Dean went into the guest room. He could hear him talking quietly with Tristan, even laughing once in a very tired voice. “Jesus,” he breathed. “Please let everything be okay.”

***


	4. Celebrate and Savor, Guardian Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene from the past, and one from the present, show Sam and Castiel's relationship as they've grown to trust and rely on one another emotionally.

Sam was laughing breathlessly. No matter how long they lived, or what happened around them, there would never be a time when that sound did not fill Castiel’s heart to bursting.

But because it was Castiel, he rolled his eyes at the man. “Yeah, yeah. Happy anniversary, you big puppy. Now you’re part of a pack.”

This released another round of laughter. “It’s so perfect!”

“Well? I’m not cleaning up after them. And they have to be walked during the day. They’re athletic dogs, the woman said, so they’re supposed to get plenty of exercise.”

“I’ll talk to my TA. Andy. He’s got more time than he knows what to do with and he’s always bitching about money. He can come over once a day and feed them and play with them.”

“And no dogs on the bed. You understand? I find one paw on that bed, and I’m dropping all three of you off at the nearest shelter.”

Sam pretended to be extremely serious with his promise. “You got it. No dogs on the bed. So what’re you naming yours?”

Castiel’s inked hand flew up. “And that’s another thing! Neither of them are mine, understand? They’re your dogs. Yours. I want nothing to do with them. I’m going to name one of them, then send them both to behavior school or whatever, and that is my entire contribution to their upbringing. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir, Angel.” Sam’s smile was getting ridiculously big.

He rolled his eyes again. “You’d think I just told you we adopted a yacht.”

“Dogs are better than yachts.”

He gave Sam a look that made it clear that he thought the younger man was an idiot. Then he took a deep breath. “Well, I got you two mammals for our anniversary. I think I’m done for now.”

Sam threw his arms around him for the fourteenth time. “I love you so much! Are you sure we can’t go get them now?”

“No! Get off of me, you damn octopus! I told you! We can’t go get them till the weekend. You get pictures of dogs today. Pictures. That one’s a collie, and that one’s…it’s a Hudson Bay retriever. Or something.”

“Chesapeake. Chesapeake Bay. They’re perfect, Cas. I love them. I love you.”

“If you love me, get off of me and stop cutting off my air supply.” But he knew better. He knew what was coming next, and he had anticipated it from the moment the photographs had come out of the envelope. Sam had gotten his dogs. Now he was going to get his reward for having found them.

He could not even pretend to protest when Sam lifted him off the chair and into a kiss. The younger man’s heart was pounding, and his skin was flushing with desire. Before he knew it, Castiel was being tossed onto their large bed on his back.

 “Jesus, Sam,” he breathed hoarsely. “You gotta stop throwing me on this bed. We’ll break it. Or me.”

The hunger in those hazel eyes was making Castiel come apart underneath them. When Sam got in these moods, when he was incredibly happy, there was no denying him anything. With just that mad look about him, Sam could unravel Castiel from the inside out. And when he spoke? “You love it when I throw you,” Sam corrected him in that husky voice that Castiel could feel under his skin.

His sigh turned into a whimper as his lover began pulling off the layers of fabric between them. He closed his eyes to shield himself from Sam’s gaze, but that left him all the more vulnerable to the voice.

“Angel, I want us so far into one another that your ink bleeds into my skin.” Their clothes were peeling off bit by bit, and Castiel did not open his eyes, but allowed a moan to emit from his soft lips as Sam’s mouth worked its way along his chest. “I want you every second of every day, do you know that? You’re every obsession, every fantasy.”

Castiel felt his chest tightening over the words, shying from the lips that breathed them. “Sam, we’ve been together for a long time. How can you still want me like this?”

“Have you seen you? Have you felt you? Have you even heard your own fucking voice? You’re my addiction, Angel. I’ll never have enough.”

At last, he let his eyes open, and he gazed up at his lover with adoration. “Sam,” he whispered. He lifted his hands into the man’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Sam’s tongue pressed urgently into his mouth. Always urgent. He pushed gently on his chest. “Why do you always seem to think every time is the last time? Like you’re in a hurry?”

The hazel eyes widened. There was a spark of hurt, but a soft smile brushed it away. “Cas, it isn’t like that. I mean, look at us. It’s our third wedding anniversary. Neither of us ever thought we’d be here with someone. You always thought you’d be alone. I always thought I’d be lonely. And here we are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take that for granted. It isn’t that I’m afraid we have to hurry. It’s that I’m so grateful for what we have that I want to celebrate every minute of it. Does that make sense?” He licked his lips, and put his hand onto Castiel’s chest. “Why? Are you still afraid of us?”

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Of course not.”

Sam watched him carefully, in that way that made him think he could read his very thoughts.

“No, I just…You hurry, and I try to stall. You want to celebrate, and I want to savor.”

To his surprise, the younger man’s face took on a hint of amusement. “Okay. You want to try something different?” 

“No!” he answered quickly. “That’s not what I…I love what you’re doing. You know I do. When you get like this…I can’t even breathe. But it feels like it’s a grande finale, you know? Don’t you ever just want to have boring, mediocre sex?”

The laugh finally burst out of the massive chest above him, and he found himself smiling sheepishly at his own words. Then Sam quieted to a chuckle, and his hair fell in front of his eyes. “First of all?” he smirked. “You are entirely incapable of boring, mediocre sex. That’s got nothing to do with me. You can be mostly asleep and you’re still amazing. Second, it isn’t a grande finale. I don’t intend for there to ever be a finale. Ever. Grande or otherwise. So shut up. Third, I promise not to hurry if you promise not to stall.” His smile grew wicked. “But I do not promise not to throw you. Because you do like it. You like how much I want you. How much I need you.”

Castiel shivered. He could feel Sam’s body moving against his again, their skin bare and alive now. When he closed his eyes this time, it was not to prevent the sensory overload, but to revel in it. “God, Sam. You feel so good.”

Sam kept speaking the entire time. It was like a worshipping chant, a prayer breathed onto his skin, as they both rode waves of pleasure which had become familiar but never ordinary. Sam’s voice was constant, pushed through gasps and moans, competing against every beautiful sound they made, to assure Castiel of his love. “You don’t know what you do to me. You’re so beautiful, Angel. God, yes. That’s it. Oh, Cas. Cas, you’re everything…everything I ever wanted to feel. God, I love you so much. So beautiful. So fucking amazing. Exactly what I need. Cas, yes. Please, yes.”

It was a grande finale, but neither Sam nor Castiel ever intended for it to be the last one, not ever. When they lay against one another, naked and sated, Castiel kissed Sam’s forehead. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispered.

Sam smiled crookedly into his throat. “Yeah,” he answered lazily. “Cas?”

“Yes, pup.”

“You got me dogs.”

“I got you dogs.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed the sweaty hair on the man’s forehead again. “Just don’t let them on the bed.”

“I promise.”

***

Dean was passed out in the guest room by the time Sam returned. Castiel wandered to the door to greet him.

Sam accepted a kiss, then shook his head sadly. “Where’s Tristan?”

“Out with Jo and Charlie. They took him and the dogs to the park. Charlie sent me a photo of him and Erik in the lake. They’re both part fish, I think.”

“And I bet Mira and Jo won’t touch the water.” Sam tried to smile, but found it took too much effort.

“Probably not. And Dean’s in the guest bed. What did you find?”

Sam sighed heavily. “He says he already looked, but breaking into other people’s records isn’t exactly something he knows much about.”

“You didn’t do anything illegal, I hope.”

The man shrugged noncommittally. “I didn’t do anything anyone could prosecute,” he corrected.

Castiel nodded. “Ah.”

“So the first part was easy. Her GPS isn’t off. The whole phone has been taken offline. She cancelled the service. So I looked into when she did that. It was before she even left. Last call was to the hospital on Wednesday morning, lasted just long enough for her to have left a message or something. The one before that was to Tristan’s preschool.”

“Why do you think…?”

He licked his lips and rolled his eyes. “So I called them as Dean, got the weekend manager, and it turns out Pamela wanted to check who the emergency contacts were for Tris. And she took Madge and Ed off of it. Abby too.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “So she was keeping her family from…”

“From being allowed to pick up Tristan from school. Now the only people still on that list, who can actually take him out of school, are Pamela, Dean, you and me. And here’s the weirdest part. They said they got a message yesterday from a number they didn’t know telling them to take Pamela off the list too, just leaving you, me and Dean. They said they couldn’t do that without speaking to Dean in person, and I said I’d come take care of it on Monday.”

“She told them not to let her take Tristan out of the school? Why would she do that?”

Sam took a breath. “I don’t know. Except that she doesn’t seem to trust herself or her family with Tristan. And on a hunch, I called up Richie.”

“Your brother’s partner?”

“Yeah. I do minor consulting for them, check their paperwork and whatnot. So he didn’t blink when I wanted information.”

“What did you find out?”

“Pamela’s been making withdrawals. Richie didn’t come out and say it, but he indicated that he’s been worried Dean didn’t know about it. He didn’t want to bring it up, because he didn’t want to seem like he was going over Pamela’s head, but he was kind of relieved that I was asking about it.”

“How much?” 

“A lot. Not enough to break the business, but enough to get her started somewhere else if she wanted.”

Castiel rubbed his forehead, smoothing the stress wrinkles away. “So…how long has she been planning this?”

“Richie said the first time she took more than a few hundred bucks was three weeks ago. Said that's when he started dropping hints that Dean should take closer looks at the accounts, but Dean’s been distracted.”

“Dammit. Isn’t Richie a partner? He’s got the right to look after his own investment!”

Sam shrugged, and walked into the kitchen to help himself to some juice. “I know. I said so too. But Richie’s a good guy. He wanted to believe Dean knew what was going on, and that he just needed the money. And he didn’t want to be the one to tell him if he didn’t know.”

“So Pamela’s been through years of post-partum depression, and she’s run away, but this isn’t an impulse. This has been a slow burn for about a month now.”

“Looks like.”

He nodded. “What was she thinking?”

“I don’t know, man. She always seemed like she was pretty well-adjusted, didn’t she? At least stable.”

Castiel watched him thoughtfully. “Do you think so?”

Sam looked up from his glass. “What do you mean?”

His husband was playing with his ring. Castiel’s movements were almost always entirely conscious, so when he began to fidget, Sam always took notice. “I mean…maybe there’s been something there that we didn’t want to see. A woman doesn’t just leave her kid. There was something there, and we missed it.”

A horrible thought had been nagging at him all morning, and he could not help vocalizing it now. “Cas, you don’t think…you don’t think she ever hurt Tris, do you? Or that…” He felt like vomiting just thinking of this. “You don’t think Dean ever hurt her?”

Castiel was shaking his head. “No. I don’t think it was like that. But Dean said something earlier. That every time he suggested she get help, she slapped him for indicating she was a bad mother. And Tris said that Mama makes Daddy sad. I hope he never saw that.”

He felt the anger he had shoved down all morning boiling up his esophagus. “She slapped Dean? You ever see that?”

“No, but…remembering the way Madge and Ed interacted sometimes…They try to be the perfect all-American family, but you ever think they smiled just a bit too much? Like it was practiced?”

“We haven’t been around them enough for me to say.” But he was grinding his teeth. “And so what if her parents fought? So what if they had a shitty marriage? Dean has given that woman everything. Everything.”

His husband took his hand. “I know, pup. But it isn’t easy to go against your programming, especially if your brain chemicals have been screwed up.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Shh.”

He forced his voice to quiet, but the anger was still rushing through his veins. “It’s bullshit, Cas. You and me? We went against an awful lot of shitty programming to get where we are.”

He received a shrug in response. “And I think Pamela might have for a while too, but, Sam, you can’t judge someone else’s mental health by ours. And you have to admit that we are kind of screwed up now and then too. Pamela didn’t handle things well. We know that now. But you and I supported one another. Pamela didn’t let anyone help her.”

“So this is Dean’s fault?” 

“I didn’t say that. Of course it isn’t Dean’s fault. He doesn’t have the advantage of an outsider’s view. If we should blame anyone, it should really be me. I’ve been at their place a hundred times since Tris was born, we’ve had them over for dinner. And I spent the last half hour thinking, and you know, there were dozens of signs that I recognize in hindsight as clear as day, but at the time, each one could just be explained away. I never added it all up, because I didn’t want to see where the math took me. She isn’t healthy, Sam. She hasn’t been for a long time. It would be stupid to sit here and try to diagnose her, but when I finally did do the math just now? It all added up to a pretty scared, unhealthy woman who didn’t know where to go, so she just went.”

_She didn’t know where to go, so she just went._

The words stung, and for a moment, Sam didn’t even know why. Then, as realization dawned on him, he felt tears filling his eyes. “It’s what my dad did.”

“What?” The hand on his closed down firmly, providing the support they had just talked about.

“When my mom died. Dean said he didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know where to go, so he just started driving and never stopped. Dean said it so many times. That we were just lucky Dad found a way to make money driving because he was never going to be able to stop. He didn’t know where to go. So he just went.” The tears spilled over as he turned back to his husband. “Jesus, Cas. It’s happening to Dean all over again. Do you…do you think some people are just meant to get their hearts broken?”

Castiel took the glass and placed it on the counter, then wrapped his arms around his husband. Sam let himself begin to sob, let his trembling flow into Castiel’s strength. Sam was strong. He enjoyed working out, jogged with the dogs, lifted weights and took good care of himself. But somehow Castiel would always be the strong one. He may have over forty pounds and four inches over him, but the older man would always be exactly what Sam needed to lean on.

“I’m scared for him, Cas.”

“I know, pup. Me too. But we’re going to get him through this. You focus on finding Pamela, and on figuring out the family law side of all of this.”

When Castiel gently pushed him back, he saw the meaningful look he gave him. “Yeah. I know. Did you talk to Dean about that? About why we were saying this had to be done a certain way?”

“I think the last thing he’s thinking about is the fact that he might one day have to defend his custody rights. He shouldn't have to worry about that at all. That’s what you and I are for. To protect him and Tris. So you get to work finding any trace of Pamela and researching family law, and I’ll do what I can keeping them healthy. I already called Missouri and told her I might not be in Monday or Tuesday.”

In spite of the painful situation, Sam found himself smiling with devotion at Castiel. “Thank you. I really appreciate you taking care of my family.”

“Our family,” Castiel corrected softly. “He’s my brother too. And Tris is my nephew. I’m not going to let anything happen to them now that they’ve come to us for help.”

Sam watched the man walk away with that familiar look of determination that he loved so dearly. He had fallen in love with Castiel, his caretaker angel, all those years ago, and he never failed to fall in love with him all over again every time he became protective. If anyone could help Dean and Tristan through this, it was his caretaker angel.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel remembers dreaming about his true home as a child, when he planned to be alone.

Castiel was not asleep. Again. A hundred things were rolling around in his brain, and he knew that lying down was as close as he was going to get. It was just as well that he had called Missouri to have her field questions from the grant folks today. She was better at it anyway, and he would have been a complete mess after so little sleep.

He cringed silently as he recalled how poorly the last grant update had gone. He had felt entirely poked and prodded, and had nearly lost his temper when one of the reviewers had sneered and made a joke about the grant money going toward tattoo removal. He had quieted the man with a simple hard gaze of his blue eyes, but Missouri had yanked him out of the room to explain that in all her years of meeting with grant review boards, she had never seen a researcher renewed due to intimidation. He had scowled at her irritably, and she had responded by smacking him in the back of the head.

“Boy, you better keep those eyes to yourself. I’m not letting you lose all your hard work because you can’t stop glaring at some suit. Now let me do the talking, and you just try not to piss anybody off. You hear me?”

Castiel was stubborn. “They don’t understand what we’re doing, Missouri. They don’t even care. It’s just about dollar signs.”

“And we need those dollar signs, don’t think that we don’t! It doesn’t matter what they understand, Castiel. What matters is that you get what you need so you can do what it is you do, which is help children and families, and other researchers. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go in there and get us what we need, and if I have to whack you again, I just might!”

They had gotten their grant renewal. And it had nothing to do with Castiel’s perfectly documented research précis, nor the questions he responded to grudgingly. It was Missouri’s uncanny ability to look into these men’s eyes and see exactly what they wanted to hear and tell it to them without blinking.

So he knew better than to think Missouri would miss him the next two days. He had left her with all the data she needed to impress the board review, and she would be relieved that he and his sharp eyes were out of the way. He was generally too much of a control freak, as Missouri put it, to stay in the curtains, but he owed Sam, Dean and Tristan some time, and he had to admit to himself she didn’t need him anyway.

The house seemed cold. He pressed himself up against Sam’s warm body. He could hear his husband and Miranda breathing together, and it made him smile. This was not the life he had expected, and he had never forgotten to be thankful for it. Sam was right. He had accepted as a young child that he would be alone forever. Sam had feared he would always be lonely. And now here they were, sharing their lives, their hearts, their homes.

When they had bought the house, the move-in weekend had taken three weeks. Dean, Benny, Gabriel, Ash, Jo and even Crowley had come by for beer and to move furniture with them. But once they had left, the work had ended abruptly. Amidst piled boxes and askew furniture, Sam and Castiel had given up completely. Of course, it was Sam’s fault.

As soon as Dean had hugged his brother, smacked him on the back and congratulated them again, Sam closed the door behind him and pulled off his shirt. He had dutifully gotten back to work, lifting a heavy box of Castiel’s books. One look at his bare, sweaty torso and arms had been all it took. Castiel had grabbed the box from him, dropped it onto the table carelessly and pounced.

“Shit!” Sam shrieked in surprise as he tumbled onto the floor, surrounded by cardboard and little else.

Knocking the man to the living room floor was still one of Castiel’s favorite pastimes, and it was fun now to remember the first time he had done so in this home. Sam had cursed again, but this time in a breathy whisper as Castiel stalked him on all fours. “You’re sweaty,” he had pointed out with a smirk.

“So are you,” Sam whined.

“Maybe. But you’re sexier, and I move faster than you do.”

For the next few weeks, all Sam had to do was lift a box sans shirt, and Castiel was on him. Moving in was a very slow job.

Sam was laughing at him, lying on the floor as Castiel covered his nakedness in kisses. “My fault!” he snorted. “My fault?”

“Most certainly is,” Castiel scolded softly as he brought his lips down to Sam’s stomach again. “You’re the one who goes around with those amazing arms. And I’m beginning to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

His husband had a patented puppy dog look that he had built up practically no immunity against over the past few years, and he tended to use it whenever he had been caught at something. “What are you talking about? I was just trying to move your boxes into the library for you.” The eyes widened even as a small smile peeked out.

“You’re a smart guy. You know what happens when you start doing that thing.”

The eyebrows raised innocently. “What thing?”

“The using your arms thing. Where I can see it.”

The puppy shrugged. “Everybody’s got arms, Cas.”

“Not like you do,” he purred. His lips continued their worship of the man’s skin. “And the point is, it’s your fault the boxes aren’t unpacked. You keep enabling my addiction and making me jump you.”

“Ah.” The dimples were out to play, and it made Castiel want to play again. “Whatever you say, Angel. I don’t remember the last time you were so…”

“Infatuated?”

“Insatiable,” Sam laughed. “Not complaining. Loving it. But really, what’s going on?”

Castiel raised his eyes to settle his gaze on his husband’s beautiful face. “This is our home, Sam. Do you realize that?”

“Yeah, I…” The stomach muscles under Castiel’s lips tightened as Sam raised himself up on his elbows to face him. “Cas? Is this because…”

He licked his lips and carefully avoided Sam’s eyes now. He considered avoiding the whole thing all together by lowering the aim of his lips. Sam fell for that nearly every time, even times like this when they had just finished. He could call Castiel insatiable, but he knew how to stop the man from talking about anything he didn’t feel like discussing, and it wasn’t even all that difficult.

But as soon as his lips moved south on Sam’s body, a large, soft hand took hold of his chin and stopped him. “Cas? I love you. And I’m so happy we’re building a home together. I’m glad your first home is with me.”

So he had not made Castiel say it, and it meant the world to him that Sam knew anyway. He had never had a home, not even the space he had shared with Gabriel for years. He had never felt as though the space was truly his. The closest he had come was the roof of that apartment building, where no one went but him. But that was not permanency, that was escape. This, here with Sam, this was what a home was supposed to be.

Castiel had always wanted a home, but it had never crossed his mind that he might actually build a home with someone. He had tried not to, had attempted to replace all thoughts of a home with plans for travel as a child, but there were nights when he would lie in a bed somewhere new and think of what it might be like to have a place that was his true home. It was how he had thought of it back then. His true home. In his dreams, often fantasized while listening to other boys snoring or laughing or crying in the dark nearby, he did not have to share space with anyone else. Certainly, he would not share a room with strangers. His true home would be filled to the brim with books and things he had collected from all over the world. He would have as many sets of clothes as he wanted.

He had often tried to imagine artwork in his home, but he got nauseated thinking of finding beautiful things and having to leave them behind. There had been so many things he had been forced to leave behind as a child, when it did not fit in his backpack: clothes, toys, friends…Eventually, by the time he was a teenager, he knew better than to grow attached to anything other than the abstract. Music could be recollected if necessary. Travel plans could be recreated. No one could make him unlearn how to do things. He collected only things which fit in his brain or on his body at all times, including his back pack and the worn trench coat, which carried two sets of clothing, a pocket knife and scissors, a tiny mirror, his laptop and earbuds, a small notebook and a pack of black clove cigarettes, and his copy of _Catch 22_. And on his body, he carried his artwork. No one would be able to take it from him once it was a part of him. He would never have to leave it behind.

He needed nothing else in his life.

Then he had met Sam, and he had realized that being content alone in a house was not the same thing as being happy in a home. Castiel would always be fine alone. But now that he had shared a home with Sam, he would never be happy alone again.

This was what Dean faced now. And Dean had never been alone. Castiel was determined that he would be fine, but only Dean would be able to say if he could ever be happy again.


	6. Galena Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, there is a lead on Pamela's location.

Castiel was trying to keep his eyes open. He did not want to seem uninterested, merely because he was not interested.

“I don’t remember this one. I’ll save this one for a bit later. Wait. What was the precedent for that other one?”

He blinked hard, hoping to hold out just a little longer before his exhaustion forced him under. “I don’t know, Sam.”

His puppy was sighing again. “You don’t know,” he told himself irritably, as if he had not heard Castiel say it. “I’m probably going to fail. Completely. So will you still love me if I never pass my bar and have to work…”

“At a bar?” he finished for him. “Yes. Of course. What I might not be able to forgive is my death by sleep deprivation.”

Sam’s head shot up, startled. “Oh! God, what time is it? Crap, Cas, go to sleep. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” he yawned. “I promised I’d stay up with you. I’m just joking. Come on. What’s the next one?”

“On the other hand, if I fail this exam, I guess I don’t need to even bother worrying about the bar, because I won’t even have the chance to take it.”

Castiel’s brain was shutting down. He stared at his hands, watching the black lines dance eerily in his blurry vision. “You’re not going to fail, pup. You’ll be fine.”

“Family law is such a complete mess.”

Now it was years after Sam had aced that exam, and apparently family law was still a complete mess. Castiel rubbed at his eyes wearily. “None of this makes a bit of sense.”

Sam looked up in surprise. “I didn’t even know you were still paying attention.”

He stood to stretch. “I’m not,” he sighed. “I’m going to go make a few more calls. See if anybody’s seen anything-“

His phone played a few chords of The Clash’s _London Calling_ , and he reached for it. That was his generic ringtone for people he did not know, so he answered it in a neutral, somewhat annoyed tone. “Yes?”

“Mr. Novak?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I saw a missing person post on a forum, said to call if I saw that woman. My manager just checked her into the hotel I’m at.”

The blue eyes snapped open, and he grabbed Sam’s arm a bit too hard. “Yes, where are you? I mean, what hotel, what city?”

“Look, I can lose my job for what I’m doing right now. You aren’t the police.”

He clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth. “I promised a finder’s fee, and I’ll see that you get it if she’s actually there. Where are you?”

“Galena.”

Castiel turned quickly to Sam. “Galena?” His husband leapt to his feet and crossed the room to pounce on his laptop, abandoning the papers all over the dining table.

“Yeah. Galena, Illinois. The DeSoto House Hotel on Main Street.”

“DeSoto House on Main.” He watched Sam nod, then continued. “What name’s she using?”

“You ain’t going to hurt her or anything, right?”

“No. I just need to find her, get her some help. Did you catch her name?”

“Pam Ramone. That’s why I even noticed. The post said she might use that name.”

“And she looked like that photo?”

“Just like it. Bunch of curly black hair. Pretty hot, actually. What kind of finder fee are we talking about?”

“Tell me something that wasn’t on the poster.”

The man laughed uncomfortably. “Well…she dropped something and picked it up. Got a tattoo on her…her back. Says Jesse.”

Blue eyes rolled heavenward in silent gratitude. It was her. “Right. Okay. Now let’s talk about a finder’s fee.”

By the time he had finished making arrangements for his source, Sam had located the hotel and calculated a route. He took three long strides to reach the door but Castiel grabbed his hand as it shot out for the keys. “Hey!”

“Sam, we need to talk to Dean first.”

“What the hell-"

He shook his head. “Sam, it’s his wife. It’s Tristan’s mom. We need to do this right. And flying in there after her demanding an explanation without talking to Dean first is not doing it right.”

The younger man’s eyes were flashing dangerously. “Cas, that bitch walked out on my brother and my nephew. I’m going to get her and bring her home.”

“That’s called abduction, Sam. Calm down. I’m going to get Dean, and if he wants you to go with him, or he wants us to go instead of him, fine. But it’s his wife.” He sighed, releasing his grip on his husband’s hand. “He at least deserves to know she’s alive.”

Sam nodded silently, but the anger did not dissipate.

Castiel touched his face gently, then moved to the guest room door and knocked. When there was no answer, he opened the door quietly. The scene before him was heartbreaking. The dogs were curled up on the floor beside the bed, and Tristan was passed out on Dean’s chest. Dean himself was staring at nothing while tears rolled down his cheeks. He had one arm wrapped protectively around his son, and the other was draped over his forehead, the hand gripped into a tight fist. He did not even seem to have heard Castiel’s knock nor his entrance.

“Dean,” he whispered. “Dean, we’ve got something.”

A stranger’s green eyes turned to stare at him, as if whoever this was did not speak the same language. Then he blinked and seemed to understand. He lifted Tristan and rolled him onto the bed, and stood up. He took a moment to move his pillow to take his place as a soft barrier between his son and the edge of the bed. Watching this made Castiel smile in spite of the situation. The dogs yawned and stretched, but did not move from their position guarding the boy like sleepy, furry gargoyles.

Once they were outside the closed door, Castiel spoke quickly. “Dean, we think we found her.”

A flinch of fear twisted Dean’s face then. “Is she all right?”

“We think so. She was as of a little while ago. Checked into a hotel in Galena, Illinois.”

He watched Dean’s eyes lower as he obviously did mental math. Then he looked up again. “Galena, Illinois. That’s two hundred miles away.”

“A little over,” Sam murmured.

Castiel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How do you even know that?”

Dean blinked at him again, as if he did not understand the question. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know. It was something to do in the truck while we traveled with Dad.”

“What? Memorize the United States?”

“Pretty much,” Sam confirmed quietly. “We were just about everywhere.”

Dean looked back at the closed door behind him. “Tristan?”

Castiel sighed. “It’s up to you, Dean. Call the play. We’ll do whatever you want.”

“Sam, will you…will you stay with him?”

The younger man paused halfway into his jacket. “What?”

Dean looked as though his mind were racing. “Cas, can you come with me? Please?”

“Dean?” Sam’s face was an unreadable mix of emotions.

“Yeah. Please?”

Castiel spoke up quickly. “I could stay with Tris. Sam should be with you for this.”

Pain was searing across green eyes when they cut toward Castiel. “Please,” he said again.

Castiel’s gaze met Sam’s, and they both nodded. “Of course, man,” the younger brother said. “Say something to him before you go, though, okay? I don’t want him waking up and you’re just gone. It’s been two days since he thought his mom was coming back. I don’t want him thinking…”

Dean nodded and disappeared into the guest room without another word. Sam turned to Castiel.

“You okay, pup?”

“Take care of him, Angel,” Sam said fiercely.

“Of course, Sam. Are you okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah. I just wanted to be there for him. Besides…” He laughed anxiously before continuing. “You know, I don’t think I’ve actually been alone with Tris for more than fifteen minutes his whole life.”

Castiel frowned, trying to think of an exception to this statement. He shrugged. “Huh. That’s probably true. You’re…okay with this, right? Dean and me, we won’t be gone all week. But it’s over three hours there and three back, even the way Dean drives. Then there’s…whatever happens when we get there. You’ll need to feed him and put him to bed.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

He stared at the man in shock. It came to him that the most prominent emotion on his husband’s face was now fear. “Sam, it’s a preschooler. You give him some chicken and a vegetable, you put him in pajamas and brush his teeth, you read him a few stories, and then you put his little ass in a bed. It’s not brain surgery.”

“Yeah. Okay. I know. I just…”

The dark head shook in disbelief. “Sam, just call me if something happens. But nothing’s going to happen. Okay? Look, call Charlie and see if she’ll come watch something with you and the kid, okay?”

“Like what?” Sam was shoving his hair behind his ears nervously.

“Like PBS, Sam. Just watch PBS. Jesus, how are our dogs even still alive?”

Sam emitted a whine. “You take care of them!” he cried.

He wanted to shake the man, who suddenly looked like he was fourteen years old. “Not by myself, I don’t! Sam, you can keep a child alive for twelve hours.”

“Twelve hours!”

“Less! Probably less. Okay? Jesus, Sam. You’re a grown man. You teach undergrads and do legal consultations for businesses for a living. You can handle this.” He took a deep breath, and then played the only trump card in his hand. “Dean trusts you with this, Sam. You can handle it.”

His husband nodded miserably. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good. Call me if you need anything, but you’ll be fine. Okay? Feed the kid. Feed the dogs. Keep the three of them alive. Don’t lose any of them. Anything else is just bonus points. Okay?”

The fear on his face miraculously turned into an odd smile when his brother stepped out of the guest room. “He all right?”

Dean looked at his younger brother for a moment, and a strange look came over him. “You gonna be okay, Sammy?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

The older man watched him, then nodded. “Yeah. Tris is good. He’ll be easy enough. Just don’t give him any juice or anything before bed. See if he’ll take a bath tonight too.”

Castiel watched his husband’s face go pale. “You know what? I’ll give him a bath before he goes to school in the morning. You guys just relax tonight.”

“Sam, don’t tell him where we’re going. I just told him Uncle Cas needed me to help him with something. Just…please don’t say anything to him till I figure out what’s going to happen.”

“Of course. Good luck, man.”

Dean smiled shakily, then he dropped into a neutral expression. “Come on, Cas. We got a long trip.”

He reached up and kissed his husband’s soft lips. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered. “And so will Dean.”

Sam nodded, but looked at Castiel as though the last lifeboat were leaving the sinking ship without him. “Hurry home,” he called after him.


	7. Literary Symmetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck once lamented the death of Jessica as bringing Sam pain for the sake of literary symmetry. In the real world, sometimes history seems to repeat itself because our merciless minds see parallels which aren't truly there.

For the first half hour, Dean had not wanted to talk. But after that, he had started to feel like he needed to climb out of his own skin. He had startled Castiel by demanding that they talk about something entirely unrelated to anything. 

"Unrelated to anything," his friend had said dryly. "That doesn't leave us much."

He had smiled tightly. "Why aren't you at work today?" he asked finally. "My brother marry a bum or something?"

"No. I took Monday and Tuesday off, and my assistant enjoyed my absence so much she requested I take the rest of the week."

Dean glanced at him briefly. Sometimes Castiel's voice was so emotionless that it was hard to tell if he was joking. "You're burning through a week of personal days for me?"

He shrugged. "Sam doesn't take vacations. He sucks mightily at long weekends. I may as well use my accumulated time for my brother-in-law since my husband has no interest in it."

"Thank you, Cas." It was spoken quietly, but with sincerity that he felt in the pit of his stomach. 

"Whatever, Winchester. Tris has been keeping the damn dogs occupied all week, so it's practically a vacation."

Dean stared hard at the road. "Thank you for that too. Us staying with you. I just don't want him to go home to an empty house, you know? Not yet. If we're still at your place, he doesn't seem to notice the time going by." He cleared his throat. "This ain't nothing. We're supposed to talk about nothing. You go first."

Castiel scowled at him. Then he sighed. "Okay. Your brother once fell into a funeral."

"What?" he hissed. 

"Yeah. So we were doing some genealogy research for one of his classes after I graduated. He'd roped me into helping him track down graves at this cemetery. So we were at the top of this steep hill, way off from everything else, where they used to bury poor people and it was raining a bit. Sam leaned down to check a stone, and he slipped in the mud. Next thing I knew, he was sliding down the hill, then going ass over tea kettle all the way to the bottom, where there happened to be a funeral going on. You have never seen awkward until you've seen Sam Winchester covered in mud and blood from hair to toe, apologizing to little old ladies for crashing a casket."

Dean was shocked to find himself bursting out with laughter. "Holy shit! How could you have not told me this before?"

Castiel shrugged. "First words out of his mouth when I caught up with him. He was this red faced, mud-covered yeti walking out of a cemetery, and he just looked at me and said he'd end me if I told his brother."

He indulged in a laugh which swept his nerves away as he imagined his enormous kid brother soaking wet, trying to explain himself to old women half his size and four times his age. 

"So you probably shouldn't tell him I told you."

"When he was about sixteen, he wanted me to take him to a Catholic Mass. He was in this stage where he wanted to figure out who God was and what He wanted. So we go in and he sees these older folks kneeling on their way down the aisle, so he figures he better do it to, out of respect, you know. He trips as he's getting up, on those skinny spider legs, and goes sprawling-I shit you not-all over a nun. One nun in the whole place, and my gangly brother has to traumatize the crap out of her. He just helped her up, gawked at her, then sprinted out of the place, and he took it as a sign he wasn't meant to be a Catholic."

His friend was snickering quietly. "You know how he has no filter while drunk?"

Dean could feel himself relaxing. If he just focused on his buddy's dry, deep voice, he could almost pretend this was just a road trip, and not the scariest day of his entire life. They continued that way for nearly an hour, exchanging stories that would have made his brother blush and sulk over, and it was wonderful. Somewhere along the line, the stories became less about Sam's endearing awkwardness and his mulish hard head, and had shifted to talk of how grateful they each were for him. 

He enjoyed Castiel. The man had a sharp tongue and a brutal sense of humor, and he never gave an inch. He was also an empathetic ear, always perfectly willing to be quiet in favor of listening, as so few people were. Silence was never uncomfortable with Castiel. And the best part of their friendship was that the thing that defined them both was the complete devotion to Sam. 

It had been a long time since Sam was the first priority in Dean's life, though that drive to protect had never truly gone away. But Tristan was his whole heart now. 

They had lapsed into quiet when Dean heard himself speak again. "Tris is just like him sometimes."

Castiel was looking out the window, but now he turned to watch Dean, who stared at the road deliberately. "Yes. I think so too."

"Smart. Damn smart kid." He choked on a laugh. "Like I'm seven years old again, being outsmarted by a three year old."

"You're plenty smart, Dean."

He scoffed. "Right. Smartass ain't the same thing. Anyway, I see Sam when the kid's thinking. When he's calculating. Till he went to preschool I never realized that's not the way all kids are. Only other kid I ever knew was just like him. Careful, thoughtful. Stubborn as shit, but usually because he knows he's right. Till I met some of his classmates, I didn't know most preschoolers can't form logical arguments."

His friend laughed quietly. 

"He's a good kid, Cas."

"He's a very good kid. He's got a good dad."

The praise stung, mostly because he knew Castiel believed it somehow. "No," he murmured. "He's got a shit dad. But he's got two good uncles. And I'm glad of that." 

Castiel shook his head, but he remained silent. 

"I love that kid, Cas. Like I've never loved anything but Sammy, I love that kid. And I wanted so bad to give him what Sammy never got. A home, a real education, all the good food and shoes he ever needed. A sober dad who took care of him and his mom." He glowered at the road ahead as if he could intimidate his own tears into disappearing before they fell. "Apparently sober ain't all it takes."

The other man took a breath. "Dean, I know what being sober means for you. It wasn't easy but you've done it."

Not even Sam knew how difficult it had been for Dean to stop relying on alcohol, especially while he continued to put in time at the Roadhouse. But Castiel knew. He knew because he was Dean's first call when he got thirsty. Most of the time, he did not even have to say it. Castiel knew why he was calling, and never even asked, just chatted and told him stories about Sam or the dogs or his research, and let Dean talk about his car and football, until the urge had passed. Castiel never made him talk about why he wanted a drink, like Sam might have. He could hear the quiet desperation in Dean's voice, and knew he needed a friend to distract him, and he never pushed him to say why. There was no why, and Castiel knew that. There didn't need to be a reason for Dean to want a drink. There needed to be a reason he didn't take one. He had gotten through it somehow, never had more than a single beer at a sitting, never drank liquor anymore. Not perfect, not sober, not completely, but a far cry from where he had been four years ago. 

But it wasn't enough. "Ain't enough, Cas," he choked aloud. "Everything I am ain't enough. She needed something and I never figured out what. And now my baby's lost his mother just like Sam did. I lost my kid's mother just like Dad lost Sam's. Except it's worse, because Dad ran into a fire trying to save Sam's mom from burning, and Pamela ran away because I was what was burning her." 

"Dean."

"If something's happened to her, that is one hundred percent on me. And I'll never forgive myself." His eyes stared at the pavement. They were dry now, because there was a disgusted part of him that sneered inside his heart and told him he did not deserve the relief tears would bring, and his brain obeyed it. He had driven away Tristan's mother, just as he had not been able to save Sam's mother as a child. It was his job to protect them, his only job, and he had failed, and there would be no mercy for that, not in the form of tears relieving pressure nor allowing comfort from a friend. 

"Dean-"

"I'm done talking." He snapped on the radio and raised it to a volume that did not allow conversation, though he could feel Castiel sighing heavily beside him.


	8. Clowns, Cabinets, Crayons and Couches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick look at how the two left behind are faring.

Sam and Tristan were sizing one another up. In spite of the wealth of height and mass he lorded over the child, Sam got the impression he was far less the intimidating of the two.

Tristan's arms were folded across his little chest. "I don't have to do that," he said in a tone that made Sam feel like he was the child here.

He took a breath. "Look. I know I'm not your daddy."

"Or Uncle Cas. Or Mama."

He clenched his teeth. "Yes. Well, I would like to get your nice drawing off of Uncle Cas's kitchen cabinet, and I think you need to help."

"You didn't tell me I couldn't draw on that. So it's there because of you."

"And I like to call that a consciously fallacious argument, since my omission in stating a rule does not negate the consequences of you having committed a transgression against said rule when any reasonable person would have anticipated them under the same circumstances. And you know it."

The child eyed him carefully through narrowed eyes, tilting his head with a stubborn jutted chin, and it was clear to Sam that he was determining the validity of the counter argument, and opting to readjust his own tactics. "Well...I don't know how to clean.”

“Really, kid? That’s the strategy you’re going with?”

The green eyes lit up suddenly. “I know! We can pretend we already cleaned it up! And then we can go play!”

“And then I can point out that we didn’t, and you can clean up.”

To his credit, the little terror was a genuinely good sport. When it became obvious that Uncle Sam was at least as stubborn as he was, Tristan gave him a sweet smile and took the wet washcloth which was extended to him, and he proceeded to scrub at the crayon on the cabinet door. Sam was relieved to see the mess coming right off.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered as the job was finished.

“You’re welcome, Uncle Sammy!” Tristan called out happily, then attached himself to the man’s leg.

 Sam had no idea how this little thing went from arms crossed to arms open in such a short amount of time. He patted the child’s head fondly. “Okay. Come on. You ate. You gave me nightmare fodder with that clown doll of yours. You did some kind of dance thing with the dogs. You colored. You cleaned. Now what?”

“Now…” Tristan looked around the house as he wandered aimlessly. As he did so, Sam heard a vaguely familiar tune being hummed.

He smiled to himself when he recognized it. It was Smoke on the Water, with exactly the same poor melody his brother had always hummed it with. He felt a flush of affection for the child.

Dean’s green eyes shone out of the boy’s face then. “Uncle Sammy? Can I jump on your couch?”

“I don’t care.” Sam stopped. Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t think of why. It was unlikely to hurt the couch. It was unlikely to hurt the kid. But it seemed to him, especially considering the way the boy had asked, that it was something people did not let kids do. He wondered why. When he could not come up with a good reason not to, he said, “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.” He pulled the coffee table away from the couch to minimize the potential damage to both the tiny Winchester and the furniture, and gestured to it with his hand. “Have fun.”

The dogs found this exercise fascinating. Miranda leapt up from the floor every time Tristan’s head popped up, and yipped happily when he squealed. Even Erik danced a bit in front of the scene, though it seemed as if he were just as unsure as Sam as to what his role was here. After the fourth time the child tumbled onto the carpet without breaking himself, Sam and Erik relaxed and just sat back to survey the chaos.

An hour later, they were on their stomachs inside their pillow and blanket fort with their flashlights, each reading his own pile of books. Sam had to bend at the neck, and everything below his shoulders was hanging out of the fort altogether, and he could feel Miranda making herself comfortable on his exposed legs, but Tristan seemed gleefully unaware that Uncle Sam was not entirely encased in their fortress the way he was. Sam was reading a true crime novel, and Tristan interrupted less and less often to tell him about the characters on his pages.

 Eventually, he realized Tristan had not spoken in several minutes, and he looked up to find that the child had fallen into peaceful unconsciousness on his uncle’s arm. Sam watched his little mouth take in breath and push out a drip of saliva, and it suddenly hit him with a burst of clarity.

He could do this.

It wasn’t a matter of keeping the kid alive. He had succeeded at that, thankfully. But he could connect with it too, communicate and teach the little human. And more than that, he thought he might even like it.

It was a far cry from wanting to be a father. He might never get to that point. His time with Tristan was exhausting and confusing, frustrating and humbling. And it was also kind of wonderful. So he might not be father material, not yet, but he realized it was worth opening up the conversation again. He made a note to himself to talk to Castiel at their first opportunity, and returned to his book before his mind wandered to what Castiel and his brother were up against at that very moment.


	9. Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pamela revealed.

Pamela had not noticed the darkness creeping into the room. She had no concept of how late it was getting. She could not have said how she had chosen this hotel, nor which room on what floor she was sitting in. The dark surrounding her was a child’s blanket wrapping around her face, blinding her, and a pair of small arms twisting about her throat until she had to gasp to remember she could breathe. 

It was not better being away. She had known it wouldn’t be. She wasn’t stupid. This was part of her, and it was not going to go away just because she had put a few hundred miles on the Impala. It was not better for her. But it would be better for her boys.

Pamela had never meant to be a wife, let alone a mother. She had nearly had a breakdown two nights before her wedding, but she had never told anyone. Only Abby had known, and she had sworn her to secrecy. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Dean. Of course she loved Dean. Who wouldn’t? But the idea of another human relying on her had made her throat close up and her tongue go dry. The feeling had washed away when she had heard Dean’s voice on the phone, and then when he had taken her hand when he had arrived, she had known this was the right thing. No matter how right it was, though, Pamela had never meant for it to happen.

Dean was so easy. He was independent, smart, and the hardest worker she had ever met. He demanded nothing from her, and took everything she gave him with genuine pleasure. It had shocked her to find that very little had changed when they got married, except for paperwork. Dean had suggested she keep a small checking account in her name only, play money for when she wanted to hit the Roadhouse or someplace on her own. She knew it just made it easier for him to take care of their accounts when he didn’t have to worry about her going crazy with money when she got the urge. But it was sweet anyway. Poor Dean hated dealing with the money, but they both knew better than to leave it to her. 

Then came the baby.

She could still feel the weight that had hit her when the test had been positive. The quiet panic she had seen reflected in Dean’s eyes, even as he smiled and held her. The first thought to cross her mind became her only thought, the one burning under her skin at all times: “I’m not supposed to be a mother.” To prove herself wrong, she had read every book, maintained the ideal diet, done freaking prenatal yoga, and refused to cry.

When the baby had come, it was supposed to be love at first sight. Everyone had promised her that. For Dean, maybe it was. But for Pamela, it was like her body had been hijacked and torn apart, and her reward for hosting the invader had been a tiny parasitic human who did not want her to sleep.

She had smiled. God help her, she had smiled. Anytime there was anyone nearby other than Dean, she had placed a beautiful smile on her face, and talked about how grateful she was for the little miracle in her life. All the while, the little miracle was wrapping its tiny fingers tighter around her throat.

It was worst when Sam and Castiel visited. She knew what Castiel did in his research. If there was anyone who could tell she was a horrible mother, it would be Castiel. When he asked her questions, she felt like he was drilling her. When he asked to hold Tristan, it was like he was inspecting him. Years went by like that, and Pamela had learned ways of avoiding time with Dean’s family, excuses she could find to keep her distance. Her own family had been full of monsters. Her mother had continued the time-honored Barnes tradition of having nothing but negativity to provide through her clenched smile. 

Every time Dean had quietly suggested she see a doctor, she had panicked completely. They would take Tristan. When they found out how messed up she was, they would take Tristan, and she would have completely failed at being a wife and mother. So she had lashed out at him, struck him, turned her fear into wrath, and turned her pain into his. It was unforgivable, and she hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help herself. 

When the knock came to the door, she did not hear it right away. It took three more quick raps to bring her out of her fog. “You have the wrong room,” she called miserably.

“Ma’am? I just need to ask you a question.”

The voice seemed familiar to the part of the brain she was not listening to. But she dragged herself to her feet and stumbled in the dark toward the door and opened it. “What-“

Dean’s boot was against the door before she could even think of closing it again. “Pamela,” he rasped at her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she tripped backward, fell to the ground. The darkness which had seemed so much a part of her before was now her enemy. It blinded her. She could not see who was with him, and she could not see his face, except for the fire in his green eyes. “Dean!” she cried.

The only man she had ever or would ever love took a step in to turn on the light, which flooded the room mercilessly. She blinked against it, then looked at the other man.

Castiel. 

She glowered at him in loathing. Of course it was Castiel.


	10. Down Comes the Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pamela can't run any longer.

When Dean was a child, his father had often left him and Sam locked in the truck while he went to have some drinks. On nights like that, Dean opened a can or a truck stop sandwich for Sam and got him to sleep as soon as he could, then listened to his Walkman with headphones for hours until it was time to help John back into the truck. Some nights, they were parked where he could not get a good station in clearly. The radio would crackle between two stations, and he played with the tuner to try to get something to come in. If he could get nothing to work, he listened to his father's cassettes over and over again.

It was on one of those nights that he had fallen asleep listening to AC/DC, that he had dreamed about a hit man coming for his mother. Much later, he had come to enjoy every AC/DC song he ever heard, except for Dirty Deeds. That song still made him cringe, though he had long since forgotten why. At the time, Sam was his only companion-they were between schools-and yet he had not been able to tell even him about the horrible nightmare. The idea that someone could put out a hit on someone they had married was so despicable to him that even the joke of it turned his stomach. He knew his own father would never have done such a thing. He had seen the man dive into a room full of smoke and flames to save his mother. That was the way it was supposed to be.

When you loved someone, you fought for them.

He knew his parents had not had the perfect marriage. Before Sam was more than a month old, their father had even moved out for a time. He knew that loving someone was not always enough. But his father had at least talked things through with his mother. And when it came down to the end, John had fought for Mary. Dean knew he had. The man had failed, but he had tried.

That was the way things were supposed to go. When you loved someone, when you were family, you did not disappear. You fought to save things, to save each other.

Whether Pamela liked it or not, Dean was not giving up on her. It was not in him to do that. He was a fighter, and he would fight for her just as his father had, until he broke like his father had. She was family. She was Tristan's mother. She was his wife.

"Pamela," he breathed again through thick emotion. He dropped to the floor to help her up. "Are you all right?"

Castiel was watching them, he knew. But he stayed back a few steps.

Nevertheless, Pamela was glowering up at him darkly. Dean was shocked to hear the venom in her voice. "Well, if isn't it everyone's favorite angel," she spat. "Sorry, Castiel. I don't scare easy. I see you for what you are, you judgmental bastard. You can tell Sam to go to hell for ever introducing me to you in the first place."

Dean stared at her, then turned to his friend. He frowned to find that Castiel was less surprised to hear her anger directed toward him.

Less surprised, but sad. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel I was judging you, Pamela. I've never had anything but complete respect for you. I've considered you and Dean family for a long time. And I'm only here now because I want you to know you're loved and those of us who love you are here to help you."

Dean watched Pamela's eyes flit fearfully from one man to the other. "Please, Pamela," he whispered. "Just talk to us for a bit. Okay? If I've done something, I'm so sorry. Just talk to me. I'll make it better. I swear. Just talk. If not for me, for Tristan."

"How did you find me?" She was demanding the answer from Castiel, as if Dean were not even in the room. She still sat on the floor, but now she tucked her knees up defensively. Dean sat back on his heels. She was not going to run. If she did, she was not going to get past them both. And he was not leaving her while her eyes were so wild with fear and her voice was so thick with anger.

Castiel glanced at Dean briefly, then sat on the room's cold carpet, careful to make no sudden movements. Dean thought it was ridiculous that they had all ended up on the floor like this was a freaking tea party, but if it meant Pamela was not running from him, fine.

His friend spoke slowly. "We needed to be sure you were okay. Pamela, I think you need to talk to a doctor about why you took off. About how you've been feeling the past few years?"

She let out a defeated wail, and Dean reached for her immediately, wrapping his arms around her. His heart was aching just looking at her, and the sound made him want to die. "Please, Pamela. Please. I love you. I can't lose you. It's like I had one job. Take care of my family, protect you and keep you safe. I had one job and I screwed it up. I blew it and for that I am sorry. I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love. I've let down Tristan's mother. How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do, Pamela? Tell me what I'm supposed to do!" Tears were flowing down his cheeks, and he suddenly did not know if he was holding her for her benefit or his own. All he knew was that he did not dare let go.

"Let us help you, Pamela."

"You don't want to help me! You just want to take Tris away! Well, I've given him up, dammit! You've won! Can't you just leave me alone?"

Dean could feel her nails digging into his arm. In spite of her words, she was holding on to him desperately. It was a relief like he had never felt before. She was not running. She was not running from him. He could fix this. He could do something to fix this.

He let Castiel talk. His job was to hold her and not let go until she understood that he was going to make things better.

"Pamela, you've been hurting a long time. And I'm so sorry I didn't see it before. But you misunderstand. Pamela," he said firmly in his hypnotically deep voice, "what you're feeling, the pain you've been in all this time, it isn't your fault and no one is going to try to blame you for anything."

Dean looked at her eyes, desperate for some hope that this was getting through. "Baby, please. Please. Just let me take care of you. Just let me try."

The eyes were filled with fear. But she nodded. "But I left." It was a whisper, strangled with unshed tears.

Castiel sighed. "Pamela, we are your family. At my wedding, Dean told me that family doesn't end with blood. I consider you my sister, because my brother loves you. My nephew loves you."

At last, the tears spilled over and Pamela went limp in Dean's arms. He rocked her silently, grateful beyond words that Castiel was there with him to vocalize what he couldn't.

"Tris," she choked out. "He's why I have to do this. He's better off without me."

"You know that isn't true."

Dean let out a miserable sob. "Pamela, my brother and I grew up without a mother. Sammy needed her so badly. Tris needs you."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Tristan needs you to be healthy," Castiel added. "Pamela, you need help, and you need support, and you need time to get healthy. Sitting in a dark hotel room under a different name? You don't have to do this. People love you. We are going to get you help."

"They'll take Tris," she moaned. "It's better if I leave. Dean, they'll take your son, when they find out how messed up I am."

Dean glanced at Castiel, begging silently for him to dispute this.

"No, Pamela. That isn't how this works. Getting help for depression and anything else that might be going on is a sign that you're a good mother, not that you're a bad one."

She clutched at Dean in desperation. "Castiel, I swear if you are lying to me, if Dean loses his son, I will kill you. Don't think I can't."

"I would never let that happen, Pamela. You have my word. Getting help does not mean you aren't fit to be a mother. Dean supporting you does not mean he isn't fit to be a father. A doctor will help heal your family, not break it up."

"I'm trusting you, Castiel," she hissed. "God help me, Dean. I'm trusting him."

"It's going to be all right, Pamela. Let me take you home. Please. Everything will be all right if you'll just let me take you home."

"I stole your money," she whispered.

"I know. We'll figure that out. You stole my car too."

She cringed. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

He choked out a laugh. “Come on, Pam Ramone. We have a long drive, and I have a lot of promises to make.” He lifted her to her feet and looked into her eyes. “We will get through this, Pamela. But we’re going to do it together. You’re a good mother. You’re a good wife. Tris and I adore you. And we’re going to get you some help.” He took a shuddered breath. “And, Pamela, if when we’ve done that, if you still want to leave me, I’ll accept that. But we’ll do it in a way that’s right for Tristan.”

Her beautiful lips were trembling badly. Dean wondered while his heart was breaking, when had his strong, irrepressible Pamela become so full of fear and pain, and why-how!-did he not see it all along? “I never wanted to leave you,” she said then. “Dean, I never wanted to leave you or Tris. I just don’t know what else to do.”

“That’s why you have us.”

She nodded, and glanced again at Castiel from narrowed eyes. “I’m trusting you,” she warned again.

He nodded sadly. “Thank you for that. That’s all I can ask.”  
 Dean held the keys to the Explorer out to his friend, keeping a strong, supporting arm around his wife. “I’ll drive the Impala, and get Pamela home before morning. Can you and Sam keep an eye on Tris till tomorrow afternoon?”

“Of course. And, Dean, I’ll make some calls,” he said pointedly.

He nodded. “Thank you, Cas. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’ll call Dr. Singer at my department. He’ll know exactly where she should go, and he’ll be able to get her in as early as tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he murmured again.”

Castiel nodded, then looked back at Pamela. “We’ll get you through this. I promise. Coming back home, Pam? That takes a lot more guts than most people would have. No matter what you think, and no matter what you think others believe, you are a good, strong mom.”

Sobs wracked through his wife’s body as his brother’s husband turned and slipped out of the door. He lead her to the bed, and there he held her. “Shh, baby. It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right now. All you had to do was ask, baby. Just let me help you. You would never let me suffer like this. I’m not going to let you keep hurting. Baby, I will never, ever stop loving you. You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” He smiled into her hair as he rocked her gently. “Do you remember what I used to call you? After we watched that show that Ash was on about, Firefly? Called you my warrior woman. Remember that?”

She gave something like a nod.

“That’s what that guy called his wife. You’re every bit the warrior woman she was, baby. And I’m every bit as grateful to have you. I don’t know when I stopped calling you that over the years, but I never stopped thinking of you that way. This thing about you doing what you think is best for me and Tris, even if it hurts you? Well, you’re wrong about it, but it just shows how strong you really are. You’re wrong about what’s best for us, but I am in love with you all over again for being willing to do it for us. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known, and you are the mother Tristan deserves to have. Let me take care of you for a while. You’ve never let me do that. It’s my right to take care of my family. It’s my job.”

It took nearly an hour to gather Pamela’s things, and in that time, she broke down twice more. Each time, he wrapped her in his arms and whispered into her hair, kissed her head softly, and waited for the storm to pass. But the message was always the same, and the momentum was always toward the car. Dean left no question about that. He was taking his wife home.


	11. Someplace to Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reports back to Sam.

Castiel could hear them before he could see them. From under a mountain of blankets and pillows, four distinct snores were erupting at different paces. There were three small lumps and one very large one under there. Erik was the only one to move, and he hurried to Castiel’s side silently. The man smiled to himself, and hung his jacket at the door, and set down his keys without letting them rattle. He looked into the living room to find Sam’s sprawling legs sprouting from the most elaborate pillow fortress of all time. He could see there was still a flashlight on underneath it all, but it had obviously been abandoned hours ago, and certainly was doing nothing to prevent the two from sleeping heavily.

He watched them for a moment before fatigue won out. He reached down and gently touched Sam’s calf.

His husband startled, and he heard a bewildered curse from under the blankets. Then Sam wriggled out from the fort and stretched his whole body. The static electricity was making his hair stand on end, and he was blinking as if he still was not sure why he had found himself on the living room floor. There was a line of purple marker all the way up the side of his face.

Castiel thought he had never looked more lovable.

“Sam,” he whispered softly, gesturing that his husband should join him in the dining room to talk.

His big puppy and his dog followed him silently out of earshot of the sleeping Tristan and Miranda. He turned on the dimmer to its lowest setting.

The light seemed to shake Sam out of his sleep. He grabbed Castiel’s arms. “So?” he hissed.

“It’s going to be all right, Sam. We found her. She’s agreed to come home.”

Relief crashed over his husband. He breathed for a moment, then looked up again. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Castiel smiled at him in weary amusement. “Man, I tried. A few times. I guess your pillow fort doesn’t get reception.”

The blush across his puppy’s face then was probably the most adorable thing he had seen in quite a while. It completed the picture which began with the purple stripe he suspected Sam did not even know about yet. “Oh. Uh, yeah. That was Tristan’s idea. He said he wanted to be a knight but he didn’t have a castle, so we…Anyway, he passed out under there, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just stayed and the dogs came under too, and…I guess I fell asleep.”

“I can see that.”

Sam ran his hands through his hair self-consciously. “Whatever. So was she okay? What happened? How is Dean?” He looked at his wrist, but his watch had been discarded. “What the hell time is it even?”

“It’s about four. I stopped for some coffee about midnight, and a diner at two thirty or so, and just took my time getting home. I was pretty wiped out. Dean’s fine. He’ll be all right. I was kind of proud of him. There was no yelling. Just reassurance that we were going to get her some help. I called a mentor from the department at the university, and he’s already taken care of referring her to an in-patient clinic that will be sensitive to her situation. I sent Dean the information, and he texted back to say he would get her there as soon as she’s gotten some sleep.”

His husband dropped into a chair. “Wow. Okay. Good.”

“And what about you? Kid didn’t die or eat you.”

A slow smile crept onto the handsome face then. “Yeah. There were some close calls and a few dubious moments, but overall, we did okay.”

Castiel nodded and reached down to kiss his forehead. “I’m glad. I knew you’d both make it out alive.”

“Yeah,” Sam said again slowly, running fingers through Erik’s curls absently. “We did okay. Cas?”

“Yeah, pup?” He pinched at the bridge of his nose against the fatigue headache.

“We should talk again. You know, about kids. I don’t think…Maybe we should talk about it again.”

A wave of surprise flowed through him, and he felt his chest tighten sharply. It was practically a flinch. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I just…I’ve never been around kids, you know? Not like you were growing up, and not like you are now, at work. But spending some time with Tris tonight…I don’t know. I still don’t really want to raise a baby. But maybe I will one day. Is that…I mean…”

The exhaustion he had felt before was lifting off of him now with such physical relief that he stumbled under it. He dropped down to crouch on his heels between Sam’s knees, ignoring Erik. He put his hands on his husband’s thighs and looked up at him with a gaze he could not temper into calm. “Sam, I don’t ever want to push something like this on you. That’s not fair to you. But if you ever decide it’s something you want, I…Sam, I don’t want a baby.”

His husband frowned in confusion. “But I thought-"

“No. I mean, that’s not…I want to foster kids. Kids nobody else will give a chance to. Older kids. The ones who have given up on having a home. I want to give kids what…”

“What you didn’t have.”

Emotion choked him then, but he nodded and squeezed his eyes shut.

Sam was smiling at him when he finally opened them again, and it filled his heart with hope. “You weren’t working with babies the other day, were you?”

Castiel shook his head mutely.

“You were working with…?”

“Adolescents,” he forced out. “Ten to seventeen year olds.”

“And they always stare at your hands.”

He nodded, and closed his eyes again.

“Cas, if that’s what you really want, I can give you that answer right now. I can do that.”

A sob erupted from his throat, as he gasped for breath shallowly. “No, Sam, no. You don’t even know what…what that would…you don’t even know…”

Strong hands were cupping his face now, and he could feel Sam slipping out of the chair to sit beside him, to hold him. “Castiel.”

Hearing Sam use his full name broke the last barrier. Fatigue and emotion crashed over him, and he wept, leaning weakly into his husband’s hands. “They just need someplace to land. You know? Like you…with Dean.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed warmly. “Like me with Dean. Cas, I understand this. I don’t honestly know if I would get to the point where I wanted to raise a baby. But this? Let’s do it, man. I get this. I mean, taking care of some kids who need someplace safe to be, someone to look after them…I can get behind that.”

The sobs were brutal now, and Erik whined once in concern.

Sam’s voice had a smile in it. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy Cas is just realizing he gets to be Daddy Cas. That’s all.” He wrapped his arms around the older man securely. “Angel, there is nobody who knows like we do how important a stable place to land is for a kid. I would be really proud to provide for some kids what Dean gave to me, what somebody should have given to you.”

Erik curled around them protectively, and Castiel found that he was grateful even for that.  
 “How long have you wanted this, Angel?”

He swallowed hard, bringing himself under control somewhat. His voice was even deeper than usual. “I don’t know. It…crept up on me.”

His husband nodded. “Okay. I’ll start doing some research on the state’s laws regarding foster care. You know it might be difficult. Because it’s two men.”

“I know. But…”

Sam understood. “Yeah. It sure won’t hurt that we are who we are. And that we know who we know.”

Castiel gave him a small smile. “I love you so much, pup. You won’t ever know how much I love you. Even considering this…Sam, part of the reason I want to do this is that I think about what it would have been like for you if no one had built you a home.”

“You made it.”

“Did I?” The weariness was coming back, dragging at his muscles, calling him to bed. “Anyway, someone’s Sam Winchester is out there waiting for somebody to take him in and give him a home so he’ll know how to love them when they finally meet.”

The man laughed quietly. “That’s got to be the sappiest thing you’ve ever said, punk.”

He swiped at his wet cheeks and glared playfully. “You’re a jackass. I just drove almost four hours with your brother, and followed that up with nearly a five hour drive back. I’m tired and emotional. Screw you.”

Sam nodded then, sobering. “Why, um…why’d he want you to go?”

Blue eyes raised to meet hazel. “Sam, he just needed someone who’s studied this stuff. That’s all. I think if the two of you had gone, he would have just let himself get angry. I was just there to keep him centered.”

“Okay. No, I get it. Thank you for being there for him.”

“Of course.”

“And he’s really okay?”

Castiel sighed, and used Sam’s shoulders to brace himself as he stood. “Yeah. He will be. It’s going to be a really long ride, but we’ll get him through it. For now, we’re going to wait till he texts us, and we’re going to take Tristan home.”

“You don’t think she’ll try to run again before Dean can check her in to that place?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I do know Dean isn’t going to let her. He’s a good man, Sam.”

“Can we go to bed? I feel like I’ve been sleeping on concrete.”

“Yeah. Erik, come on. We’ll have to leave the door open to listen for Tris. He might wake up as clueless as his uncle did.”

“Shut up. I was alert.”

“I love you, Sam.” 

Sam smiled at him. “I love you, Angel.”


End file.
